


a certain distance, endless light

by fervent



Series: different names for the same thing [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Charleston (Location), Implied Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Implied Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:23:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2227218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fervent/pseuds/fervent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They could kiss forever or lie here forever, watch the moon set as well the stars shift over and then out of sight, the sun rise forever the sand on their skin forever the waves coming in forever. It feels possible, is the thing...</i><br/> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>or, Louis returns to Charleston and makes a film, Niall owns a boat, Harry is studying photography, Zayn is all the way in New York, and Liam can act.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	a certain distance, endless light

 

He sleeps through most of the second flight, his body so simultaneously accustomed to the air and so out of it that it comes easy. Two hours pass by before he can struggle against the jet lag. _Heard it said the trick._ When the plane touches down he jolts out of it, pulls his earbud out in a jerk that kind of hurts but the surprise of the plane hitting the ground is bigger, kind of slams it into him that this is actually happening, he’s back in Charleston. It’s dark out by now, the city’s lights hardly anything in the black of it. Not for the first or last time he has a _what are you doing_ train of thought before cutting it off, physically shakes his head to stop. _Come on, Lou, pull it together._ The airport is tiny, walking through it finally feels like he’s back in the U.S. but for the hundredth time coming back still carries the lingering feeling of being in a foreign country. Most of the lights are low or off completely, all but a few of the shops are closed, the other passengers on his flight the only activity that isn't subdued waiting around.

In the back of the car he watches the palm trees appear and disappear through the dark of the window, thinks about every place he's seen their tall trunks and fern leaves and how Charleston has some kind of hold on them being a homecoming. Vaguely considers the name of the shade of green they hold better than any other tree, something like varsity green or advent.In the morning he'll get used to it again, maybe, one thing (among many) that Europe and New York both were lacking. The marshes gradually browning into the autumn, the river always glowing blue against the sky. The driver has on an Elvis Presley greatest hits album, fortunately doesn't speak to him much. Louis appreciates it, knows hardly everyone will have the same self control.

It's a good thirty minutes to the house and it's dark by the time they pull up, jet lag starting to kick his ass. He lugs his bags from the pile the cabbie left on the driveway and up the front pathway to the door then shuffles the mat around for the spare key he knows must be here somewhere, finds it beneath the plant in the corner. Something about naïve and Harry and who could even think of breaking into this house, then shoving the door open and standing there a moment, not even thinking anything, just standing. His brain flits through _second home, second nature, second thoughts_ , settles on _second to none_ , this house like a Midwestern farmhouse but so _south_ , porches in front and back, white siding, nothing to improve on. 

Once he's inside he drags his bags just far enough in to be out of the way of the entry to a pile next to the stairs, then shrugs his jacket off and adds it on top. The house looks almost the same as last time he was here, back in January home on his last winter break for a few days. Less blankets on the couch in the living room, the windows open, Niall's spare guitars actually in their stands off to the side. It smells like incense and bonfire, the hallmarks of a summer well spent by Harry Styles, and he kind of has to smile about it, hit with a rush of nostalgia and welcome, even from an empty house.

 _I’m back with scars to show/ back with the streets I know_   
_will never take me anywhere but here_

Harry’s room is on the second floor, and from the looks of it he’s been expecting Louis regardless of his vague plans; the mess of shirts he’s had scattered across his floor for as long as he’s known him have either actually been laundered and put away or shoved into his closet. How sweet. Not that Louis could possibly care enough to investigate, but the wood floor looks good. Even though Niall’s still gone for the summer on his parents’ yacht or whatever, Louis can’t quite bring himself to sleep in his room. Habit, loneliness, whatever, they’ve always done it this way and he’s not about to break tradition now. He flops onto Harry’s bed and toes his shoes off, drags the made blankets off the sheets and completely collapses into sleep.

Sometime around two Harry enters from stage right, shoves gently at Louis just enough to get him to scoot over. He can’t be bothered to open his eyes but the shape of his body curling around him feels like years worth of homecoming, like he’s Odysseus, one of them is, or cinnamon sugar toast, or a bonfire at his mom’s house with a beer. Harry smells like beer, sort of. Falls back asleep before it matters, his hands reaching out for the hem of his t-shirt and the soft huff of Harry’s laugh the last thing he hears.

This is the one where he's back in the flat, standing looking out the window at the street below, thinking curse words in the saddest voice he can imagine, he's making the audience cry with how much he means it: _what did we do so wrong_. This is the one where instead of retreating into his head as S stares at him from their bed he just fucking says it and they manage to figure it out; he doesn’t catch a flight home after a summer spent alone because he couldn’t afford anything else, wishing they could both be in London, wishing he could be back in New York, not distracted from Jan and his failed fucking masterpiece, trying to save this _thing_ , this infuriating relationship that started off so goddamn good. He fights for it in this one, pushes S into the bed and swears this isn’t it for them, makes S repeat the words back at him until they’re crying with it, the audience is crying, no one gets away with holding it until they’re alone in the airport bathroom, _bathed in a pharmacy of unnatural light, my hands looking weird, my face weird, my feet too far away_

He wakes up instantly. Opens his eyes and thinks _no_ , thinks, _you can’t_. 

The blinds on the windows are just slightly grayed, must be close to morning and Louis is still bone-tired but he’s wide awake. Harry’s curled up opposite him, his mouth open just enough for his breath to get caught on his lips when he exhales. Isn't it strange, falling asleep. Just waiting for it to come. A few minutes turns into an hour. Harry'd left the bedroom door open and he can hear the tick of the clock in the hall, lets its rhythm take him back under. He doesn’t dream anymore.

At nine the clock chimes once for every hour and for each of the twelve marks, loud enough to finally kill the fog of his sleep. He crawls out of bed and takes a piss and stares at the bathtub for a moment, one of those claw tubs with plenty of reference to history, whatever. _Feed the dog whatever. Burn the straw house down._ It seems like years since his last proper shower. In the kitchen he starts a kettle and digs out the tea he left in the cabinet next to the stove, shuffling the fifty other boxes and coffee and miscellaneous spices that have made their way into it around to find the tin in the very back, neglected but thank god still there. Niall’s parents are beyond generous to let them keep this house “running” as they put it, but it’s become undeniably theirs in the two years they’ve called it castle. It feels like a home in a way that it definitely didn’t the summer they all helped move them from their dorm on campus, feels lived in and welcoming, like every house Louis grew up in. Harry’s keys are on the counter, the fridge has leftovers and half a gallon of milk, all of it completely hyper-aware as home. 

The sun is still small over the horizon when he thinks to open the back porch, and he thinks before he can help it that S would have loved it here. Shoves the thought away _it’s not like it's a fucking death_ and burns his tongue but it's the same sun in the same sky and he knows that's enough to start at least. From here it looks like a miracle. How can that not be enough. 

 

~~~~~~~~

 

He's still sitting there when Harry comes down wearing his blanket on his shoulders like a cape, eyes bright, grinning at him. They just smile at each other as he approaches then he flops over the back of the couch and tackles Louis into the armrest, snuggling his head all over his neck. "Lou Lou Louuuuuu welcome home," his hair going up Louis’ nose, smiling into it, et cetera et cetera. “Why is there paprika next to my tea.” Harry snorts then stills and starts fake-snoring, clearly referencing the Never Living It Down Narcoleptic Incident of Five Years Past, and Louis shoves at him, laughs. “It was one time! And fuck off, I have the jet lag excuse, not you,” Harry laughing into his shoulder, now, his blanket twisted and warm and fuck it _is_ good to be back. It’s good to be back. 

 

Harry has the happy hour shift so they spend the next few hours wasting away with a Seinfeld marathon on TV, leftover chicken from Harry’s mom’s Sunday dinner he makes into chicken salad that’s way too good to be leftovers. Louis complains about the celery being too green and Harry smiles at him like same old, same old, the afternoon is a hundred miles long. It’s been a long time and Louis had forgotten how easy it is to fall back into Charleston. Effortless, even. He hasn’t even left the house yet and it’s like London never happened. If Harry notices when his face falls at the thought, he doesn’t say anything. Can’t really remember what he told him on that last call he’d made, just a blur of alcohol and _I’m coming home, I’ll be there soon,_ and _I don’t know what I’m doing._ Harry sounding echoed and staticky, this terrible mix of confused and comforting, _Yeah, yeah, Lou. I’ll be here. Are you alright?_ and Louis trying so so hard not to let his voice shake, but he was so drunk and saying he had to go was the only way to not completely lose it. What he actually remembers is waking up on the couch in S’s horrible flat at sunrise, head pounding and blind with hurt, shoving the few things he’d taken out of his bag back in and calling a cab for the airport from the sidewalk, not looking back. The sound of the door shutting behind him playing on repeat until the bathroom and the pain and losing it completely, having to pull himself together at the sight of the time on the clock on the wall, still in the bathroom, then boarding the plane, not making eye contact with anyone. It wasn't until somewhere over the Atlantic he'd noticed the pinch at his thigh, realized he still had his key to the flat in his pocket. The first time he’d vomited on an airplane, not the first time swallowing it back down. Refused it. He'd asked for another water and chugged it as soon as the attendant handed it to him, tried to clear his head with sleep. With writing when that didn’t work, reading when that didn’t either. 

Harry’s gone quiet over his empty plate, and Louis comes to still holding half a sandwich. Something about needing to get better. 

H is in habit mode flicking through things on his phone without really looking at them and _not right now, not yet_ is echoing around Louis’ head, knows any moment is one Harry could turn into one of his infamous talks, knows he'll feel better as soon as he does but can't get it out. It's too close, feels too fresh. Stings inside his chest.

 

Harry drives him to his mom's house, Third Eye Blind's self-titled playing in his CD player in the stretch of songs that make up the middle of the album. Remembers moving to New York the second time, after his first summer back, when he and Harry had learned the lyrics to _Semi-Charmed Life_ and shouted them at each other every fucking day, completely ignoring the rest of the album, then spending that school year obsessed with the whole thing and it's a weird plane of nostalgia, missing things Harry and he didn't manage to share, realizing he didn't really know Harry even had the whole album on a CD at all. He's humming along to _I Want You_ all quiet, fingers tapping on the steering wheel in time to the strum pattern. That something so important to him when they were apart was maybe something else they had in common. They talk lightly about the heat breaking finally, lows down to the 70s now at least, Harry asks about the weather in Paris and Louis smiles, says it was hot but had nothing on home, lacked the like, simmering of the South. They arrive at the house, Harry moves his hand from where it’s stretched behind Louis' headrest to ruffle his hair and says he'll see him later, to tell Jo and the girls hi for him as if he didn't just see them a few days ago. Louis shrugs him off a bit, can't stop smiling, the anticipation something similar to adrenaline. Gets out with a _thanks for the ride,_ tries not to run to the door. 

 

~~

 

His mom has gotten really into this season of _Dancing With the Stars_ so they watch that all night, Louis resting his head on her lap on the couch. His mind wanders like it always does when he watches television, her hands in his hair more soothing than anything else on earth. He thinks about Adrienne Rich, _whatever happens, this is._ and forces himself to remember the reality of S too, has to come to terms with what changed between them, the ways they changed without each other, how what fueled the time they shared had turned into something that kept them apart. Without the frame of classes, of making _Spectacle_ , everyone being in the same city and on a relatively regular shooting/editing schedule, they’d fallen out of sync so easily, out of touch with each other. He thinks about blame and what they should have done, how they could have tried harder, remembers six weeks of S in London before he’d even gotten to France, their plans in bed over the winter thinking they’d see each other every chance they got, how it all fell so flat. Thinks maybe that for something so easy to start he should be grateful it ended so easily too, but then there’s the sour taste of someone else’s things in his partner’s bed, the shame in having to discover what had happened and S saying so softly _I thought you knew._ Wonders if healing is going to be anything like anything he's gone through before, if every person that breaks your heart has somehow figured out a new way to make it the worst yet. When his mom goes to bed she kisses him on the forehead and says "It's so good to have you home Lou," and as she's walking away, “even if it’s not what you wanted right now." He presses his mouth into a half smile and doesn't reply, turns the TV off. 

 

A week passes back and forth between Harry's bed and his own at his mom's; he sleeps too much altogether and texts Zayn a lot, only sometimes getting an answer and that's fine, knows he's reading them in between studio time and following the artist he's assisting right now around Brooklyn for some project, something with gangs or troubled youth, whatever. Doesn't want him to worry, knows he is anyway but that's Zayn, heart on his sleeve, etc. The messages he gets back are lighthearted, asking if he’s living off Bojangle’s and sweet tea now or just Jo’s favorite bourbon, every stereotype he’s ever heard Louis ramble about being willing to kill for a goddamn taste of actual comfort food. Louis tells him about the margaritas Harry's been perfecting and trying to convince his boss to offer on Wednesday nights when he works and no one else is in the place except the regulars and Louis, who's working very admirably at getting his name back in the top spot on _Gone Carting_ on one of the few still working handheld game things Upper Deck had invested in two years ago. Harry's chatting over the crossword with some girl he's gotten to know over the summer and Zayn makes him promise on Harry’s behalf he’ll make them when he visits, even if it’s winter by then, and Louis types back _If it’s winter by the time you get here I’m feeding you margaritas until you puke, asshole._

 

~~

 

They spend a few days at the beach, Louis gets reacquainted with the Atlantic and the tight skin feeling of a sunburn, sand stuck to his sweat. Takes a swallow of saltwater just to taste it, thinks about growing up with that feeling in his mouth. Harry laughs at him so he takes another and spits it at him which turns into a splash battle, Harry shouting _mercy, mercy_ when Louis gets a good enough grip on his wrists to dunk him under. Comes up spluttering with a grin "Still fight dirty, Tommo," wiping the saltwater out of his eyes and shaking his hair at him. It's gotten long, looks stupid when it's all wet and drooling onto his face. Not that Louis' is much better, but like, it's _Harry_. Harry that can get away with any goddamn hairstyle (or lack thereof) he pleases. If it looks stupid even once of course Louis has to be the one to notice.

 

At Harry's insistence for barbecue for lunch they drive over to JB’s, walk in and one of Louis' old classmates, like, middle school old, is hosting. Harry greets him by name, "Liam! How are you!" and if Louis is supposed to be surprised that Harry knows him somehow he wouldn't consider himself at all one of Harry's friends, much less his best. Liam grins at them the same crinkly-eyed as when he was eleven, answers, "No complaints, Harry, how are you?" Nods at Louis and says his name with it so Louis feels like a bit of an asshole, couldn't remember his name, has no idea what he's been up to the past ten or so years, what in fact is Louis even doing here right now. They sit in a booth at the opposite edge of the restaurant and Harry invites Liam to eat with them, Louis rolls his eyes _he's working Jesus Christ_ but Liam turns down the offer regardless, says he'll stop by later, let them eat. As soon as he walks away Harry turns to him smiling, "We did a group project together in one of my comp classes, like, freshman year, he’s hilarious," trails off looking at the menu and Louis feels it again, that this city is too small and knows too much about him, how is he going to live here, what is he doing. 

 

They leave after talking with Liam for fifteen more minutes by the exit, exchange numbers so Harry can keep in touch. Liam is kind, laughs too much at both of them, really, but it's nice, things are easy between the three of them and Harry wants him on their trivia team so there's plans to hang out soon. He drives them back into town and they collapse on the couch, sunburned and sleepy, the windows all open and the sound of the street drifting in like a lullaby. Louis sleeps too long and Harry is gone when he wakes up, grumpy and annoyed, knows he’ll be up all night now. Skin that blend of itchy and stinging, can’t move without his shirt brushing against it. When he gets home he swims in the pool his mom had argued with Dan about for ages before finally relenting and then lies in bed feeling restless, like he’s wasting time on something he can’t even pinpoint. Misses New York, and S, and having someone to fill the space next to him. If only to pretend he has a purpose besides complaining about a sunburn.

 

~~~~~~~

 

Niall comes back with three days left before classes; Harry’s been preparing in increments, cleaning the house (not that he ever let it get dirty really, anyway) and stocking up on groceries and alcohol, texting him all the time and laughing at whatever he replies. Louis can feel it coming, the weird replacement Harry’s going to have to do, the subsequent adjustment period of having to balance two best friends and it’s something he'd rather not have to deal with, figures he'll spare Harry the trouble and back off and spare Niall the fucked up version of himself he's still dwelling in. If he’s honest, feels a bit pathetic in the wake of them returning back to school, both of them with a meaning to their days he can't claim. Should get to work. He's sitting in his room staring at the cluster of files he'd been working on before Everything when a fucking herd of elephants thunders up the stairs and one Niall Horan and one Harry Styles burst into his room. 

"Come on then, goose, I told you Niall'd have your head for hiding out." Louis rolls his eyes and shuts his laptop. Okay, fuck the screenplay. Fuck Harry too. He sighs as Niall flops on his bed and says, "Yeah, what’s this bullshit welcome, Tommo?" He doesn't want to be a shithead but it’s been a shit day and they’re still grumbling about it and teasing him and he’s not in the mood, blurts it out before he really thinks, "I just didn’t want to get in the way.”   
As soon as he says it he knows they’re going to give him _shit_ , goddamnit, Harry more than Niall is what he’s expecting but Niall bursts out laughing first and says, “You’re not serious,” and Louis tries to scowl but he can’t, what a fucking _nuisance_. He ends up flopping down on the bed next to him, never one to do melodramatic halfway, even lets Niall hit him with a pillow and holds it to his face and pretends to moan.Niall is still laughing, tells him to stop being a baby and come out with them and Louis meets Harry's eye over Niall and the pillow he’s thrown onto his belly and nods. Harry smiles. Can feel him think _you idiot_ at him. 

 

They head to Rec Room for trivia since it’s Sunday night tradition for Niall and Harry during the school year; it’s them and Liam for a team under the name Socks (Harry, of course, and Niall had found it so funny he snorted his drink up his nose) and though Louis had never hated Harry more, he’d smiled at Niall’s suffering and none of them could come up with anything better. The bar is full of people older than them but that’s neither here nor there when the first round's answers all include references to geometry. Niall and Louis pull them through somewhat, though Louis finds himself watching from the sidelines more than is typical for him, trying to gauge what his place is now, here, with Harry that knows him better than himself, Niall he vaguely knows only from short term visits and breaks from school, and Liam whom he hasn't seen in years. It's weird but it's alright, feels like something he could get used to. Misses Zayn. Niall is reliable for keeping everyone on a glass that's at least half full and Louis remembers the parties he hosted in high school, how that was his role when Harry was distracted with snacks or whatever upperclassmen he was chasing after, charming, whatever. It’s so hard to resent him though, or want to one-up him. They end up laughing to the point of tears like five different times and it’s the best night out he's had since leaving New York months ago, the greatest blend of quiet and fun and home. They come in sixth place and pledge to study up for next week, meet some of Harry's friends after and don't leave til past midnight, even then only because Liam has to get home for an early shift. 

 

Five of them climb up onto a roof downtown, some girl Harry knows from classes if Louis remembers right has an apartment on the top floor there’s a ladder up from and Harry asks him to tell a story like they’re in New York and it’s freshman year, Harry still at CCSA but visiting for his spring break. Louis skipped his night class for this, sneaking up to the roof of his dorm, and it’s been months since he’s felt this warm, like Harry brought the sun with him. He tells him so and Harry laughs, actually giggles, and says, “Lou, you’re wasted. Give me that blanket back,” and tugs, “Tell me a story,” and Louis knows he’s only asking because this is the game they play, that Louis tells the best stories when he’s drunk and Harry is young in the way that Louis is terrified he can feel slipping away so he indulges him, rambles on about space and time and Carl Sagan being Harry’s long lost uncle. Now Harry has taken three astronomy courses and corrects his version of the Crab Nebula ( _No, no it was visible for_ two _years, not twenty_ ) but still laughs when it’s not that funny as everyone else chimes in with their own input. The rest of the night gets lost in a blur of made up constellations and mythology, the highlight being Niall’s insistence that the Ursa Major is actually a wagon, according to the Europeans it’s a goddamn Charlemagne reference. No one believes him but somebody is apparently still sober enough to google it and there it is, Charles’ wain, easily misheard as Charles’ _wang_ and that sets them all off for ten minutes, Louis has tears coming out the crinkles by his eyes and can't remember anything in the world so funny, Niall keeps wheezing out "Charles Wang, greatest king of his age" or any variant, Harry whines "I can't breathe, my stomach hurts" and Louis pats Harry's belly realizing his own hurts too, has this thought later as they climb down the ladder back inside that an ending is only an ending then, _yeah if only it were that simple_ and _no, probably shouldn't be._

 

They end up all in Niall's king size bed, somehow, just past three, Harry watching some video Niall’s been hysterical about for the past day and a half (he’s already shown Louis). Louis wakes up early, turned facing Niall, his body curled into Louis' side but not quite touching, just his fingers at the sleeve of his shirt. Harry’s on his other side, arm just resting against his own. Crawls out from between them and shuts the door softly on his way out, the floor cold on his feet. Puts the kettle on. It looks like it’s going to rain any second, the window over the sink hardly lighting the room at all, sky all grey with clouds. 

 

Not ten minutes later it’s a full-on thunderstorm. Niall comes into the kitchen looking sleepy and soft, carrying his quilt and Louis follows him to the screened porch; they don't have much of a view being downtown and Louis sort of wishes he was at his mom’s for it, but the sound is nice, a slight breeze coming in and Niall with his eyes closed for the time being, each of them at opposite ends of the couch they have set up out here. Harry comes out after it’s died down a bit and flops between them, head in Louis’ lap and feet in Niall’s face, yanks the blanket from the back of the couch onto himself and the three of them. Niall grumbles at him but adjusts, they sit in quiet for a while until Harry asks Louis what he’s reading and then to read him something from it and he hasn’t read anything since the plane back, doesn’t tell him. Has to dig it out of his bag shoved in the closet.

 

The poem starts _Here are the ruins. Here is the avalanche._ It takes him a minute of reading to get it, warm into it, but the thing is built in the way a good poem is meant to be built, an ending that feels like a knot tied tight. _Here is all that’s going to be._ Had forgotten how heavy it is, but it doesn’t matter, they’re quiet and Harry hums in that stupid way he always does when he’s thinking after something. Louis catches Niall’s eye and he just smiles, rolls his eyes at Harry and pats him on the head. Louis thinks about the film he’s supposed to be writing and the ending he’s supposed to be working through, what this room and these people have to do with all of that. It doesn’t feel like he’s ready but he can imagine he will be soon, maybe, and that’s fine. Going to be.

 

~~~~~~~

 

He takes to driving around at night, can't fall asleep anyway. Niall goes with him sometimes when he doesn't have anything else to do and it's just them in the living room playing grand theft auto or whatever, Niall with a beer in hand and Louis trying to focus on Franklin parasailing but kind of distracted by the shape of Niall's feet in his socks moving to whatever song he has on. On nights he's not had more than a beer with dinner earlier he picks up his keys and Niall grabs his iPod and they head west or north for a while, Niall takes to calling it _wherever the wind takes us_ like it's not Louis turning the car onto Steed Creek Road. If something looks cool he'll pull over and they'll get out, clamber down the bank to the edge of the marsh beneath the bridge and watch sticks and whatever else drift in the water. The moon is so bright it's enough to see Niall clearly against the sky, his eyes bright like he wants to jump in. Louis wouldn't put it past him. "What if we saw a body or something..." Louis scoffs, mental image terrifying. "Lucky we're not in New York, or we probably would." He says it with a laugh and Niall breathes out and doesn't turn away from the bridge, Louis has this urge to grab his arm or something, still kind of thinks he's going to just wade in. He doesn't, just keeps staring at the water intensely and when he crouches down Louis actually reaches out for him, doesn't let him see. They stay like that for a few minutes, Louis closes his eyes and stands there and listens to the frogs and bugs talk shit, still thinking about New York and missing it. He flicks a thought to the notebooks he's left waiting still inside his suitcase, ideas at their rawest, from late nights with Zayn and whoever else, getting stoned or drunk or both or neither, every word out of their mouths promising and important. He'd told Zayn maybe he'd start whatever's next for them, relying on tradition that it was always his spark that everyone else grew into something, but hasn't really welcomed that thought yet, misses the city and what he'd built there, kind of aches with it, actually. Think about something else.

 

It's late by the time they head back, both sleepy, Niall’s iPod on shuffle over the speakers now playing _Why Do I Keep Counting?_ and it's hard for Louis to resist how it turns, _the trouble is my head won't let me forget_ but it has this feeling like a triumph sort of, Niall singing along next to him and Louis speeding on 41 home, pushing eighty and the stars are disappearing the closer they get back to Charleston proper but it doesn't hurt him. Thinks about a quiet kind of moving on, can’t imagine ever doing this sort of thing with S, anything like it. Thinks about missing someone but more missing what you were when you shared time with them, that time of your life. The different ways we exist with different people, that where S demanded the extraordinary of Louis, challenging his work and his decisions, everything the best out of both of them, Niall’s not asked him once. Just trusts people, doesn’t he, just lets them be. Can’t think of a single time he’s heard him question anyone’s motives or actions, just goes with it or does his own thing. The song fades into _exitlude_ but Niall hits the power button and they drive through the city in quiet, just the sound of the air coming through the open windows, the engine shifting gears. Thinks back to New York, driving around with Zayn their last few weeks of classes, after the premiere, easing through finals, waiting to leave and move on and feeling almost sick with anxiety, going home at night to S already sleeping and crawling into bed to a sleepy lump that always moved to let him in. Smiles about it. Marvels at that a second, so that when Niall glances over at him he punches his arm and says, “What the shit are you thinking about,” and Louis smiles wider, shakes his head. "Just weird to be home," and something about the night makes him elaborate, feels like he has to explain. "My best friend Zayn and I, back in the city, we used to do this all the time, but like, on the subway or walking, dunno. Feels weird to be here driving around instead." Niall is smiling when he replies, "’specially with someone like me, eh?" Louis glances over at him, knows he’s joking but also _what weird_ and Niall meets his eyes, a bit of a challenge there if he’s not mistaken. Can’t decide how to reply so just rolls his eyes, “Yes, especially with Niall Horan, first class yachter and the least fun person I know,” and Niall laughs, sticks his head out the window of the Jeep now they’re back to the neighborhood. “Good thing you have your seatbelt on,” Louis says when he comes back in, “else I’d have pushed your loser ass out there.” “No you wouldn’t.” “Mmmm, kinda would.” He pulls into the driveway next to the house, just behind Harry’s pick-up. “You wouldn’t, because then _who_ would bother going with you to a swamp in the middle of the night or tell you there’s ice cream in the freezer.” Louis grins, doesn’t bother with the first part though he’s sort of touched by it, “Okay then, fair enough. Let you live for the sake of the ice cream.” Niall grins as he opens the door, _in my linen you are skin again._

 

Summer seems to end, then, fades into September and Louis spends most of his time alone, whole days on his own doing whatever. The further it gets into the semester the busier Harry is, working on his thesis proposal and trying to do preliminary shoots when he’s not doing actual coursework too. They hardly see each other, just text once or twice a day. Louis sleeps there less and less, and when he does he falls asleep on the couch waiting for either of them to come home. Niall is busy as well, writing business plans for a group project and marketing papers, his social entrepreneurship class kicking his ass. Doesn’t know how to settle into what his daily life is now so sets up a routine: wake up at seven and take the girls to school, come home and go for a run or bike somewhere, shower, eat some cereal, write for a few hours, or try to, or struggle to, or give up and read instead, sometimes meets Harry for lunch, very rarely someone else, doesn’t think about Niall, doesn’t think about S, takes his camera outside every afternoon and works on his shit. Probably is drinking more than he should be but there's not much reason not to. Zayn calls him or he calls Zayn and they talk shit about ideas they had for _Spectacle_ that didn’t fit, less superpowers and more outside circumstances. He talks about S the minimum amount possible but that’s enough, enough to have someone that knows what it was when it was, knows what happened and why it happened, that Louis is doing the best he can. Zayn’s the best friend he’s ever made; Harry and he never had to get to know each other or figure out how they work, how to talk shit out. With Zayn it was a few months freshman year of hardly hanging out besides smoking with their roommates or playing video games; they hadn’t worked on anything together until sophomore year when Louis needed someone that knew how to hold a boom mic without it getting in the shot and Zayn had said alright, and they’d clicked, trading assistance for projects. Louis writing dialogue for a lavalier assignment, both of them acting in some girl’s short film about angels, laughing their way through finals and trying not to kill each other writing for _Spectacle_ in the end. He puts the ideas that still resonate into an email with what’s left of his summer project and Zayn puts it into google drive instead, starts rearranging right in front of him. Louis closes it after a minute, lets him work whatever magic he’s can’t imagine right now.

 

~~~~~~~

 

He and Niall visit Harry at work on a Wednesday, head over from the house and it takes a half hour but it’s beautiful outside and the sun still doesn’t set until after seven, the last dregs of light lasting til almost eight. Niall’s talking about his Social Entrepreneurship professor as they walk and when Louis glances over every now and then to catch up with the impression he’s trying to do of the way he says “business” like he’s from the foothills of Georgia, he catches himself grinning more at the way his tongue gets in the way when he’s just hardly drunk from dinner than the accent Niall can’t fake. Wants to write a scene in about wandering past where they’re supposed to be going, ending up at the Battery or some place on the water, no yeah, the Battery, those swings on the pier… Niall sitting too close because he’s drunker than Louis is and because he’s Niall and because the breeze off the water, it’s kind of getting cooler now that autumn, _holy shit what._ Niall’s running his hand along the bricks of the building they’re walking next to now, completely in his own world while Louis apparently romanticizes a goddamn movie about him and when he comes back close to him on the sidewalk he tries to skip but sort of stumbles and Louis has to pull his hands out of his pockets to catch him but he does. Niall’s head to his neck. There’s a moment before he laughs where he exhales and Louis feels every molecule of it on the skin above his shirt, thinks, _no, not romanticizing at all,_ and then the laugh, the “Thank you, think I’m a litt-le tipsy, eh, Lou?” and the pull away. 

 

Harry looks at him funny when they walk in and he has to keep himself from making a face back, just grins and says, “Where’s our cheap beer,” thinking _see straight through me._ Watches his hands pass over three bottles each to the guys at the bar and then meets his eyes again, Harry answering, “None for you,” all playful, can feel Niall’s grin next to him. _So fucked._ Harry’s eyes don’t match his tone and Louis ignores it, pretends not to notice, doesn’t care. So what. “Aw, come on, that’s discrimination, at the very least.” Harry smiles then, hands them each a bottle of Palmetto and starts a tab on the register.

 

Niall moves to get up after the first round of karaoke and says, “Need to get some air,” and Louis feels out of it; has to consciously pull his eyes from the makeshift stage and catches a glimpse of Niall already headed out. He stands up too, finishes off the last of his beer and follows down the stairs and out the front door, just past the entrance to Pita Pit next door where Niall is, next to a garbage can. They stand there a second, Niall leaning back with his eyes closed and Louis is drunk and wants to kiss him, moves close enough to before he thinks it through and stops, but he’s already there when Niall opens his eyes again. “What’re you doing, Tommo?” Covers it with a “Checking you’re alright, Horan. Lookin a little ghostly. Ghastly… Ghostly.” Niall smiles, closes his eyes again, “Ah, I think you mean angelic.” and he can’t resist, tiptoes a bit and puts the back of his hand to his forehead, knowing even as he does it that whatever pretense of a fever he’s working under it doesn’t matter. The best thing about Niall Horan is that he goes along with it and he knows. He knows and he goes along with it. Whatever. Either way. Niall Horan opens his eyes and kisses Louis like he means it and he does, and it’s all Louis can do to keep kissing him and not smile out of it; it feels so good. It's kind of sloppy, not in a gross way but like Louis can feel both of them being surprised about it, just going with it. The soundtrack writes itself, light breeze down King Street at his back, the concrete of the wall smooth against his fingertips. Other hand at Niall’s waist, resting but not quite still. Niall hums into his mouth and Louis spares a thought to how good it feels to kiss someone pretty much drunk. He imagines the audience smiling at them. 

 

They head back inside at Louis’ insistence for water for Niall and more dollar-fifty Palmetto for him and Niall is in front walking up the stairs when he says, “That’s my family’s company, you know,” and Louis hadn't but it makes sense, laughs and crinkles up his nose. “That’s why you’re always drinking it,” and it’s a flat statement but Niall turns and smiles at him, nods, “So I’m paying you to get me wasted!” Niall laughs big, shakes his head, “No, just drunk enough,” and they’re back inside, Louis shaking his head, the back of his neck burning. Some woman is singing ‘I Will Always Love You’ as they make their way through everyone to the bar; Niall passes by to the watercooler in the back and Louis takes a seat, lets Harry give him another Look and just smiles, not breaking eye contact as Harry takes the cap off and hands the bottle over. “So what’s this about then?” Louis takes a drink and shakes his head, can’t help smiling. “He’s a really good kisser,” and Harry nods, says, “Yeah, I know,” because of course he does, and Louis doesn’t even need to ask, can already imagine them just casually coming home one night and casually making out against the couch for a bit, something they just casually do every once in a while. And Niall _is_ so great, and Harry is too, so what the hell, why not. Kind of wants to see it, kind of is really drunk right now, where’s the bathroom. Also a bit stranded. Harry’s wandered over to someone else and is talking like he has no intention of coming back to where Louis is seated so he stands up, kind of has to catch his balance-

 

Niall sleeping next to him, fingers in the hem of his shirt, head rested on his chest. Too warm. Louis wakes up with the worst taste in his mouth of all time and shirtless, _um, pantsless_ , looks around and spots his clothes in a pile still at the end of the bed, one long drawn out syllable in his head, blinded, needs to piss. Eases himself out from under the lump of a body Niall is when he sleeps, but he opens his eyes, closes them again a moment and Louis freezes, thinks about a lion or a dragon, is smiling when Niall opens them again. Groans, “How can you be smiling right now, Lou,” and Louis laughs and pulls the blanket off to stand up, Niall mumbles _my eyes_ into the air between his head and his pillow, hardly makes a sound. So they…? Isn’t sore, per say, maybe just still tired. Not sure. Niall is probably going back to sleep. 

 

Can’t remember ever being in this bathroom before, but it’s nice. Nice navy blue shower curtain, nice whitewood vanity, nice beige rug. Mrs. Horan probably decorated. Or gave Niall leftovers from their house. Something about it seems like her, or what he imagines she’s like. There’s a patch of leftover come on Louis’ thigh that establishes that _Yes, they did do Something last night_ but whatever, Louis is always looking for it when he’s drunk and if they were both drunk, whatever. Remembers them singing something onstage… _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun_? Or _Time After Time_. Something Cyndi Lauper. They killed it too, or Drunk Louis and Niall did. And then it comes back in a rush– he still has his underwear on because he'd blown Niall and then apparently fallen asleep. Christ. Okay. A memory comes back to him of the dark of Niall's room, taking his clothes off with Niall stumbling around trying to find something, his phone charger maybe, wanting to taste him again and saying so? Niall laughing and Louis laughing, into each others’ mouths, found his charger in the tangle of the four different blankets on his bed. Knows it wasn't the best display of skills but also knows Niall looked great besides, catches himself smiling in the mirror. When he exits again, Niall is curled all across the bed where Louis’d been, sleeping sound.

 

Harry’s waiting in the kitchen when Louis comes out, stirring sugar into a mug of something steaming next to the sink. “Morning, Harry.” “Morning.” Louis leans against the island, waiting for it. Grumpy… maybe hungover. Short, regardless. “You made it home alright, then?” Harry nods, turns to him and leans against his own counter. “You and Niall, too?” Louis kind of smiles, can’t _not_ , “Yeah… think so, at least.” Vaguely remembers walking back, Niall pushing him against a building, _shut up I’m getting to it_. Physically feels himself steel at the look Harry gets in his eyes, “And _you and Niall_.” Something about his tone makes him defensive, something resentful or judgmental, “That’s none of your business.” Harry scoffs, and here it comes. “What, can’t tell me he’s your quick-fuck-rebound?” and Louis thinks _fuck you, how dare you,_ wants to punch him for the first time in years but the way they fight is like this, straight to the point, no-holds-barred, blindsided. Louis is blindsided. Harry is staring at him angry in a way that is so rare, all clenched jaw and dangerous, daring him to say anything to the contrary and he can’t; he can’t deny any of it. Doesn’t know what to say to. Exhales for the first time in twenty seconds and takes it personally, turns away, _get me the fuck out of here,_ but Harry grabs him by the arm, pulls him back to him, “You can’t do that to Niall, Lou. You can’t.” and now Louis is angry, shoves him away. “Fuck off. I wasn’t. You don’t have any idea-” “And neither do you! That’s what I’m saying! He’s not going to stand up for himself and I’m not going to let you treat this like it’s not a big deal. It’s Niall, not just some guy you met at a bar.” Louis rolls his eyes, has reached his door by now. Spits one last “Fuck off, Harry,” behind him. What bullshit. 

 

Niall is on his phone on the couch in the living room and doesn’t look up when he leaves. Knows, can just _feel_ that he heard. Slams the back door on his way out. 

 

~~~

 

He wrenches the car door open just in time to see Niall turn past the passenger side, closes his eyes a moment extra and gets in. _Damn it._ Neither of them say anything for a long time, Niall’s turned the radio on but the volume is down from the last time it was on, Louis answering a call from Zayn yesterday.Wants to disappear. Takes Ravenal toward North Charleston because he’d been planning to go back to Mount Pleasant originally but obviously can't go home now, the gas light turns on, _He’s not going to stand up for himself_. Damn it. 

 

They get to Hanahan before Louis pulls off for gas, figures he’s testing his luck waiting any longer, mental image of them actually running out of gas on the highway enough immediately. Niall never saying anything, just sitting there. He gets out and swipes his card to pay, hits the button and puts the nozzle in, thinks _this is stupid_ and leans in the open window and has to say it, can’t wait anymore to ask. “Am I… Have I been an asshole? Am I acting shitty?” And Niall shakes his head, lets out a soft _no_ , but won't meet his eyes, keeps staring out his window. The sound of the gasoline filling the tank seems a hundred times louder than normal. It's a few moments of Louis trying to figure out what to say next, get some kind of idea what he's working with, when Niall speaks up, says, “I mean, I'm not expecting this to be some serious thing,” finally looks over and Louis has to kind of smile, _god what a fucking great person,_ and Niall smiles small back at him even as he keeps talking, “but maybe Harry’s right a little bit? Not that I don’t think he’s completely out of line and it’s not his place to say shit to either of us about this, whatever it is, and I’m actually fucking pissed about it…” pauses a second, looks away again, “But maybe we should, l don't know… I don't know what we're doing, and maybe that's not good for you right now?” Louis finds himself nodding yeah, the click of the nozzle giving him an excuse to turn away. Knows he’s right but hates the underlying _you’re not ready for more than this_ , is so tired of being fucked up about S and nursing his wounds and hates that anyone can see that, much less Niall. Christ. 

 

He heads back, then, after, doesn’t have the energy to keep wandering around thinking to himself. Needs to vent to someone, talk to his mom. Whatever. Christ. Needs to disappear. Niall is still quiet, puts his window down and sticks his hand out to feel the air rush past it, and the wind whips Louis’ hair all over the place. Feels really young, unsettled. He’s two (four, really) months out of the most serious relationship of his life and now he’s into this weird bullshit he’d seen happen all over the place in college. boundaries being set up and around who can do what with who, etc, and he’s tired. 

  
When he pulls up to the house Niall stalls a moment before leaning half his body across the console and pulling Louis to him in a hug. Louis can’t bring himself to care he’s being squished or that it should be awkward between them, just hugs back and sighs a moment, lets Niall kiss him goodbye with a quiet, “Alright, alright. We’ll figure it out, Lou.” Watches him walk into the house and then drives home, lets his sisters bring ice cream up to his room like they never could have done when he was younger, resists thinking about anything but the goddamn _Little Mermaid_. He swims laps in the pool later until he’s so tired it’s hard to climb out of the water but his brain is finally quiet, finally thinks past Harry’s voice in his head asking what he’s doing, goes to bed thinking _tomorrow tomorrow_. 

 

This is the one where they’re on a beach, all three of them, and Louis is in the waves watching someone swim parallel to shore, water lapping up to his neck, he's that deep and the swimmer is still a hundred feet farther out, hardly a white splash in the distance. On the sand telling him to be careful and then the current and he's twelve again, panicking because it doesn't matter how hard he swims, he gets pulled back farther and farther toward where the swimmer was but the swimmer has disappeared. No one sees him flailing, the swimmer is saying _stop waving back I’m drowning_ in his ear and Louis gives in and goes under, a hand at his ankle. Wakes up sweating and his room is silent, thinks about heavy-handed, misses S only for the shape of a body to lie beneath, for someone that knew him without a backstory. Wakes up every hour the rest of the night, four hours left, then finally pulls himself out of it at six.   


He drives over to Harry's thinking he's the only idiot that’ll be able to get it over with, regardless of whatever they're doing, walks in and he’s already eating granola straight from the container in the pantry. Raises an eyebrow at him and Harry returns it with a look like _oh really_ and then they leave, run for forty-five minutes and Louis doesn’t analyze at all, just lets his steps set a rhythm in his head and focuses on breathing, following Harry’s slight turns to take a left at the corner. Lets his thoughts drift around, thinks about growing into a place and then growing out of it, if that’s possible with a person. Doesn’t want it to be. Thinks about what he should say to Harry about all this, how maybe he's going to have to drag their friendship into who they've both become, figure out where they stand now. Who Harry is at twenty-one, not the seventeen-year-old kid he was when he left. What's new about him that Louis hasn't noticed being so stuck on the familiarity between them. _What gives him the right now_ and shoves his anger down, wants to ignore it and call him out better than that. Yeah maybe he’s been putting off thinking of Niall as anything other than casual and yeah maybe he _is_ making a mistake doing that right now, but tries to imagine a future between them and can’t, doesn’t know how to. So if Harry’s right about that who cares, it’s still nothing to do with him. They get to the Battery and Harry slows, takes a rest and guzzles from the public water fountain. Louis flops into the grass to catch his breath. Wonders what Niall said to him last night after he dropped him off, how Niall looks when he's angry, the glimpse he'd gotten in the car. _not his place to_ and Louis decides against telling him off outright, if not only because he trusts Niall already has but that it still remains that he wants it to be between them, no one else's hands on it. Some version of not giving him the dignity of a response. 

 

Harry has other ideas. They walk to the edge of the water, lean over the railing of the pier and he apologizes, says “Sorry I said all that to you yesterday.” and Louis thinks _that’s fine, alright, leave it,_ but he doesn’t/ it’s just a pause while he thinks over what to say, Louis blinks at the reflection of the sky in the water. “I just… I want you to care of yourself, Lou,” and Louis has to bite his tongue so he clenches his jaw, lets Harry see it. “I’m perfectly capable of doing that, though. I am taking care of myself. I have been. This isn’t about me taking care of myself, God,” and Harry frowns at him, “Yeah it is, you’re not-” “I _am_ , and Niall is, and this has nothing to do with you at all, I don’t know why you-” The look on Harry’s face shifts just enough for Louis to cut himself off. _Who else will, you obviously can’t, look at what happened_. “I don’t need to explain this to you.” It takes years of experience to keep Louis from walking away in pure frustration, just keeps clenching his jaw. Can feel Harry watching him but avoids looking away from the water. “I was supposed to be apologizing, not making it worse.” and Louis shrugs like _typical_ , like _isn’t this how it always goes._ Already isn’t angry anymore. “I gotta figure my shit out on my own, babe,” and Harry nods at him, says a soft “I know,” as he sighs. Harry pulls him into a hug and he’s sweaty and hot but Louis hugs him back. 

 

He’s got the oven preheating when Niall gets in that afternoon, drops his bag at the door and sits down at the counter with a heavy sigh. Thinks about Harry not being home the rest of the day and Niall’s hands against the metal of the stove, against his hips, wants to be messed with a bit, really just anything to get him out of his head but he can't. They’ve got three different brands of frozen pizza in the freezer and he can’t remember which he bought last time he went to Publix, maybe the supreme one. He grabs it after deliberating a moment, figures it was probably less expensive than the mushroom sopressata (definitely Harry anyway) and the pepperoni that’s definitely been there since before he got back. Three months home already. They don’t say anything to each other and Niall’s just watching him over his phone when his back is turned, he thinks, or it feels like he is, or Louis is just completely self-conscious and hyper-aware of him ten feet away, whatever. Can’t stop hearing Harry asking him what he’s doing. Fuck it. He tears some aluminum foil off and sets it on the pan, cinches it around the edges kind of lingering, wants something to do with his hands while he’s waiting for the oven and trying not to be weird about this but it’s still weird anyway, isn’t it.Glances at Niall and they make eye contact and Louis finds himself smiling, and then Niall is smiling and they’re laughing at each other, at this, _god, Harry you’re an idiot._

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Time starts to pass. He throws himself into writing all day, gets back into the routine of writing and working, sends Jan an email for his thoughts on the first draft and lets him destroy it a bit, rewrites and builds and builds and destroys and doesn't let himself slow down. Aiming for a fifteen page draft but gets to twenty by hand, six, seven times starting over. It’s become just as important to his process to be out in the field working on something physical with his hands as it is to sit at his desk and write or type; he spits entire shots out just walking the beach in the evening or lugging his camera through the woods outside the city. Takes notes that turn into outlines, figures out what the fuck he's trying to say. Wants an ending, something that's so overwhelmingly final that the word _resolution_ can’t even apply. Ten forever minutes of settling, answers only, that make sense and are logical, all tying knots and sealing shut. When Jan asks rhetorically what it is he's demanding from this work he cringes; it _is_ demanding but he wants even more than that, wants it fucking, wants it to beg and plead, desperate and visceral, sweating with want. _A man takes his sadness and throws it away / but then he's still left with his hands. I am holding you up but this is dead weight, it is too much for both of us. We destroy each other. We let the ocean destroy us. Rutting against you. The current pulling us both under. The curtain dropping on repeat, the sun crashing into the water. A tree falls in the forest and we are both there to hear it._ He thinks about London and Paris, that piece by Maya Deren in the light of dawn, about walking home in the middle of the night and collapsing into sleep, Niall's hands in his hair, S, thinks about S so much he doesn't know what to do with it. Their bed that last time, the key in his pocket, their goodbye at JFK, _I'll see you soon, don't burn the city down now I'm gone._ That he'd laughed and they'd kissed and now he can't bear the thought of how tender they'd been with each other throughout, that he'd felt he knew everything and after all it hadn't mattered, even if he had. Wants to get past enough and become solid weight, heavy with it, so much that no one has a choice, no one can escape it. Thinks of Liam and how they know each other, the history they share growing up here and the branching off from the same central plot, thinks about the shape of S's hands. Wants to wring this out. If he can start fresh fifty times because it helps then he’s going to. He does.

 

Harry asks him a few weeks into October for help researching and they camp out in the art center for an afternoon. Louis knows he's been working on text in his work lately but not much else, he’s been keeping his process close to his chest this semester, and even if his style relies on seeming coincidental or fleeting, Louis knows better, knows it’s more from careful composition and execution. He goes through three notebooks a semester outside of classes, always sketching out storyboards and making lists, trying out tens of titles, the most frustrating blend of perfectionist and trusting his instinct. Louis would hate it if he wasn’t his biggest fan. They’ve always done this, since their first photo class together at CCSA, partnered for a shitty assignment by alphabetical first names. They’d stared at each other then both grimaced at the group next to theirs discussing Dali and skipped past the bullshit, gotten a 98% only because they’d submitted their prints in an envelope rather than the folder assigned, for aesthetic purposes. Then art school, middle of the night, even middle of the day sometimes, skype sessions for Louis to rant about critiques and Harry to hum along, infuriate him if he thought someone had a good point though Louis tried to argue against it. “ _Lou you’ve got to give him some credit though, if there’s no exposition for it they’re going to be thrown off a bit by teleportation, especially with how you’re editing it-” “Yes I know, Harry, but the idea is that they get thrown off and then sucked in trying to figure it out, not that they give up on it.” and Harry had shrugged, “Well then you have to do it better.”_ Harry’d challenged him in a way that was completely pure, wanting the best for his work besides whatever assignment he was working on, and as much as Louis had still bullshitted his way through most of his liberal arts courses, he’d held himself to high standards with the rest of it. Hadn’t gotten an actual premiere for his thesis without proving himself first, a fellowship to live off after that without the success to prove his work. 

 

Anyway, Harry’s gotten really into fluxus and the California scene from the 70s, still the same old McGinley and Tillmans, plus a bunch of alt lit writers Louis can’t keep up with, scrolls through their twitter feeds and gives up on it after ten minutes. Can’t imagine what Harry’ll turn that kind of shit into, especially seeing as he doesn’t do any drugs and has no problem making eye contact with people, but he trusts him. A lot of it is funny and that’s what he tells Harry, “You are absolutely the least _actually_ funny person I know but I bet you could make some funny work," which Harry of course takes as a compliment and challenge rather than the observation it was. When Harry shoves his computer at him with a sigh, “Books. Need paper in my hands,” Louis takes it from him with his eyebrows raised, uses the opportunity to peek at the _In Progress_ folder on his desktop, 231 raw files that he quickly ignores to open Bridge instead, see what he’s actually been _doing_ with them. It’s not what he’s expecting, and that’s just it, isn’t it. That’s always been it. As well as they know each other, he always manages to have some other layer of himself to pull back and expose. Looks like he’s in two separate things right now, a [ sequence](http://scprogress.tumblr.com/post/88970697960/loverofbeauty-hannah-villiger-block-xxx) of extreme close-ups of a body, or maybe two, monochrome but not black and white, some kind of golden light instead of just clear grayscale, look like magic, warm somehow. Reminds him of like, the kind of sex scene Hollywood seems so intent on, sharp breaths, the right angle. The kind of sex Harry could have had in New York if he’d gone. Without that context though, it’s something different, has a strange feeling of invasion or intimacy that’s the wrong kind of voyeurism. After scrolling through twice he realizes it’s a grid, they make a shape all together and does a quick select-all to see it, thinks instantly _All else was empty, silent, endless, darkness. Then somehow love was born …_ and closes it after another moment, moves to the other folder, six numbered photographs so far. Looks like he’s been using disposables again, not quite exposed right or in focus. The [first](http://shandihass.tumblr.com/image/90510913737) is a bed Louis has never seen before, red sheets with a window over the side, blinds letting the sun shine through like it’s golden hour. The next few are people, some guy with freckles on his chest, just the outline of his jaw and cropped in close to his torso, 

“Where’s the text for em?” and Harry only glances at him, rolls his eyes. “Not there yet.” Louis doubts that, “In your journal, then. Ten pages of lists.” and he’s teasing but the face Harry makes at him suggests he’s right, or close to it. “God, you’re so predictable.” “And you aren’t? Going through my shit without even _asking_?” He takes the computer back, says, “You didn’t check my desktop for this doc called Progress Text?” and Louis rolls his eyes, “No, I obviously did not. Now show me that Signer book,” and lets it go. 

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Niall snapchats him when he’s up late watching an X-Men marathon on Fox just because it’s on and his mom only has basic cable, thirty-some channels Louis still has memorized from being a teenager with a summer break to waste. He’d been editing shit from earlier in his room and needed a break, wanted some tea so went to the kitchen and someone had left the TV on, Wolverine had pulled him in. It’s not the first time it’s happened, really, seems like every week they do a marathon. _xmens on,_ overlaid on a photo of Halle Berry he’d just seen playing twenty seconds ago and Louis has to reply, takes one of the storm clouds she’s invented _been watching for over an hour somehow,_ draws a bunch of question marks underneath and hits send. Niall sends him a chat then, one long string of emojis: every smile with its tongue sticking out, a thumbs-up, beers toasting, and then he must’ve gotten distracted with the food, just everything he could click in a second starting with a donut and ending with the sushi. Louis rolls his eyes and replies with the only emoji he ever uses, the smiling poop, twice for good measure. Niall types back _why aren’t you here_ and then two seconds later _Harry fell asleep like ten mins in_ and Louis types back _of course_ , debates whether that’s rhetorical or he’s actually asking, thumbs hovering over his keyboard.

Next thing he knows he's watching as Niall's camera shows video first of his feet and the entertainment center in their living room and then nothing but dark for a second, the grainy sound of video through the app. Louis squints at the screen and then the picture clears as he walks into the kitchen where they’ve left the island lights on. Just Niall looking in at him, “Just gonna watch, then?” and Louis rolls his eyes but presses and holds the blue button and they’re smiling at each other.  _God this is so dumb, you’re so great._

 

Two minutes later he’s getting into his car catching himself still smiling- _and I’d be a liar if I denied you at all._ Headed to a goddamn 24 hour McDonald's outside Mount Pleasant because Niall had looked in their fridge and decided he wanted a Big Mac and Louis couldn’t even think about saying no when he said "see you there, then?" not pausing to consider the one closer to him downtown. He drives over with his camera on the dashboard, remembers being eighteen and doing the same thing, can’t remember what it felt like then. Always hoping to get the feeling of driving into the dark and never quite getting it but the idea of it. How comforting it still is to just drive into it, to let it come. 

 

When he pulls up to the lot the dining room is dark and Niall's Land Rover is parked on the side, the screen of his phone lighting up the front seat all blueish, Louis wonders who he’s texting and tries not to look too long because he’s gotta park the car, not crash it. Feels like no one else in the world is awake, or alive even. He opens the door and hops out, Niall puts the passenger window down and smiles out at him, albeit grimly. Louis tries not to smile too big, keep his breathing pattern, let his chest maintain its shape a bit longer. “Only the drive-thru is twenty-four hours, I guess…” and he sounds such a mix of sheepish and sad that Louis opens the door and gets in. It smells new, still, like leather and fresh expensive taste. “Well then, driver pays, right?” and Niall laughs, puts his hand to his cheek, pulls him in and kisses him quick, still smiling into his mouth. “Sure, that’s how it works.” It’s so easy, is all. He can’t get over it. How much he likes just being around him, that as thoughtless and light-hearted Niall is he’s not careless in the least. Nothing feels forced or thought-out, they can just act natural and it’s completely good. As if nothing he could do would ever surprise him. Both ways, back and forth. 

 

Niall orders his Big Mac and a large fry and McFlurry and Louis gets the same, isn’t starving but it doesn’t matter, will eat it all and want to die in a half hour and complain the whole time. They have to wait a few minutes for actual fresh food since it’s pushing two am and Niall is still on his phone, Louis doesn’t want to pry but he _is_ curious, taps his thumb on the console between them until Niall reaches over and rests his hand on his, says “Sorry, just my mom.” They’re still the only people in the drive-thru when the girl opens the window again and hands them their paper bag, two cups. “So the way I see it is we need a place to eat, right,” and Louis nods along, “Sure, what’s the plan, Nialler.” “Wanna visit Thelma?” Louis smiles. “Alright, yeah.” 

 

It’s a ten minute drive to the marina and Niall holds Louis' hand across the console until he has to back into the parking spot the Horans have reserved in front of the office. It’s sweet. Sometimes Louis honestly forgets how wealthy Niall’s family is and then something like this happens, going to a private marina with 24 hour access for tenants in the middle of the night like it’s nothing, Niall saying hello to the security guard not just being polite, but in a way that they’re actually familiar with each other, and yeah, Niall’s got things happening beyond what he or Harry does. He’s never really thought about it past a vague curiosity since Niall never makes it important, but it does feel strange, now, a bit, in this moment. A gated marina with yachts worth more than Louis will ever even begin to think about in his lifetime and Niall strolling casually past to the sailboat he got as a twenty-first birthday present and named _Thelma_ for god knows what reason. Carrying a bag of trash food and a paper cup covered in condensation into the dark, following quietly past the rows of docks, one boat with a radio on playing jazz or something. _Never getting old, gross._ Their slip is towards the end of the dock, Louis remembers from last summer when he’d been home for a week and they’d all gone out for an afternoon. Wonders when this all started, what moment has been leading to this one without him knowing, or the next. Doesn’t pause to let himself think past that next, feels like it’s so there he can’t dwell without shaping it somehow. Niall hops over the rail then opens the half-door and reaches out and takes the bag from Louis’ hands, “Fuck, I’m starving. All this anticipation just for a shitty burger,” and Louis climbs over, then, reacquaints himself with being on a boat, it’s been maybe a year, or more, yeah more. Niall walks around completely subconsciously, tosses the keys into a cupholder, pulls a fleece jacket out of a cabinet. 

 

They’ve made their way up to the second level of the boat, lying on each other in the L-shaped sitting area across from the captain’s seat, Niall had started it but it’s been in the back of Louis’ mind all night regardless, since he left his house an hour ago. The taste of ice cream inside their mouths, faint chocolate from the m&m’s and his tongue on his teeth, something distinctly unfamiliar about the way Niall is in the middle of the night, gentle with him. The sounds of that party drifting over the water, the water lapping against the dock, blanket Niall had pulled from somewhere tangled in between them. They lie like this for an hour, then two, feels like the night is just going to go on forever, mouth at his jaw, mouth wherever, infinity times this. Louis has to smile, dozes off warm and comfortable, not totally asleep maybe but enough that it all goes soft, or softer, eyes closed just drifting through a few long minutes until Niall’s moving out from under them, pulling at his shoulder. Thinks as they move _disappearing_ _into the cabin_ and follows him down into it, crawls onto the bed that makes up the whole back section wall to wall and Niall pulls him close, arms around his belly. Thinks _disappear me, why don’t you,_ rests a hand to Niall’s, falls asleep.

 

It’s still before dawn when he wakes up again, rested somehow but still easily convinced back to sleep, but curious, really, Niall’s disappeared up to the deck, door shut behind him. Louis lies there a moment, pushes his shoulders into his pillow and feels the weight of the two blankets above his chest just resting on his body, presses this morning into his memory, tells himself he’s not going to forget waking up like this, in the dark. Alone and knowing it’s not true, for once, for the first time in too long, how insignificant it is right now. He gets out of bed and slips into the tiny bathroom, brushes his teeth, flushes the toilet like an airplane’s, amused by it, looks in the mirror as he washes his hands and has to look away. Feels out of himself still, but it’s in a good way. When he peeks out the door it’s still dark, Niall isn’t in sight so he turns to the deck, finds him watching him from the captain’s seat with a blanket covering his whole body but his head, feet propped on the bench across. His hair’s all mussed and Louis instinctively reaches to his own as he climbs up and Niall laughs, “Not much to be done there, Lou.” It’s quiet and so affectionate he feels vulnerable for a moment, like he’s in over his head, finds himself rolling his eyes to cover. “Yours isn’t much better,” and it’s hardly there but a moment but he knows Niall knows more as a feeling than anything tangible and it’s _there_. He shifts around in the chair, “Figured we could go out into the harbor for the sunrise?” and Louis can’t remember the last sunrise he saw that wasn’t from an all-nighter either at school or out too late back in New York so he says yeah, sure, and Niall turns a switch then disappears back below to something, Louis has no idea what he’s doing, really, but a moment later the engine hums to life and Niall hops back up to the steering wheel. He guides them out of the slip and it’s dark and kind of chilly, Louis hugs his knees to his chest and grabs the blanket Niall’s abandoned in the chair behind him, rests his head on the cushion of the bench. 

 

They get out of the marina and it’s a twenty minute trip out of the inlet to the harbor, Niall’s focused for as comfortable as he is, Louis easily imagines him out all summer sailing up to Maine with Greg and their cousin, whoever it was. He doesn’t know. The Horan tradition, two different sailboats and a small yacht for the taking in Charleston, probably other things somewhere else. Wonders what his life is going to be like, summers where that’s possible, autumn where this is. Something about him being happy, trusts life will be so good for him, feels like Niall knows something none of them have figured out yet, or that he doesn’t know something all of them do. Niall at thirty, at fifty. It’s comforting, knows he’s going to age well and that they have the potential to be friends through that, could be. Charleston a reassurance. A steadfast, the sky lightening at its edges.

 

~~~~~~~~ 

 

The same day he finishes draft number twelve Harry texts him _dinner later???? I’m making tilapia and Jo said she’s not cooking since the girls are out._ Louis types back _Ridiculous_ and then _What time?_ and can feel Harry smile across the city at him, _7ish, my class gets out at 6 so just come over after_ and that settles it, doesn’t it. He grabs a bottle of wine from the pantry on his way out, something white because he can at least say Zayn taught him something about wine pairing (fish with white, beef with red, poultry depends on cut, etc etc). Harry is probably the only friend he has in Charleston that would care or notice, so he goes for the Zinfandel his mom always keeps a few bottles of for whatever dinner party she’s going to, sticks it under his arm as he gets his keys and writes a text to Zayn, _red wine with fish right_ and gets an immediate _very funny_ back as he opens the door to the Jeep.

 

Harry’s got the Decemberists playing in the kitchen as he cooks, a bunch of vegetables in a saucepan and the fish must be in the oven. He takes the wine from him and opens it, corkscrew from the silverware drawer where the have a pile of them. Louis sits at the island and waits, doesn’t even bother offering to help, and listens to him talk about the critique he just sat through, half the class this week and his half next. Some guy is working on a project just about blue-eyed people and they do this sometimes, take some idea that isn’t what it could be and see who can make it the most conceptual or whatever, total elitist bullshit but they’ve always done it anyway. Harry’s in the middle of a tangent about sci-fi when Louis thinks about Niall and smiles kind of and he’s busted, whatever, Harry pauses and looks at him over the plate he’s preparing. “Wait a sec, what’s that, what are you thinking about?” and Louis shakes his head, “Nothing, not telling you.” Harry holds the plate away from him, “Not handing this over until you do,” “I’m not telling you.” “Is it about-”I’m literally not telling you. Stop. Let me eat. You bribe me over here with all these promises and-” “Okay then show me the script.” Louis shuts his mouth. Knows he’s still got his backpack in the front seat from working at Cold Tap earlier, knows this is just the first time of a potential many that Harry’s going to ask if he doesn’t give in now. Is also fucking starving. He doesn't have the guts to deny him is really what it comes down to. “Okay fine,” 

 

 and he knows that page, knows it’s been wrinkled so much more for a reason even if he’d flattened it again later and put it back in. Every time he’d tried to rewrite it he’d just heard Jan saying _Louis_ with the inflection on the EE sound rather than Lou like he’s used to, _Louis, you must write what must be written by you_. So this draft has that page and every draft is going to have that page and it’s painful and says more about him than he’d ever admit to anyone, no one will know it’s him the way Harry will and there he is reading it. _Christ._ Watches him read it once and then his eyes skip back halfway up the page again and Louis looks away, tries to think of something else. Anything. Why isn't there a dog here to distract him. Maybe he'll get a dog. He texts Zayn a quick _Is there a quiz I can take about what dog type I should get?_  

In typical Zayn fashion he gets a one word reply ( _probably_ ) and then a longer one ( _you should just adopt one, go to a shelter and see what they have already_ ). Chances a look at Harry again, who has now made it past it and has two more stacked above. Only four left after.   
_What kind of dog am I?? (don’t fuck up)_  

The little bubble pops up immediately that he’s writing back but it takes a moment for anything else to show up. _Calm down, jesus. Harry is going to love it, you know he will._ Louis rolls his eyes, then, _Probably a terrier_ comes through and it's perfect and when he looks back up Harry’s looking at him like he knows, and he _does_ know, and Louis knows and the tension in the room is begging him to break it but he can’t. He just can’t. Harry sets the script down and stares at the stack for a moment, takes a breath like he’s going to say something but pauses. _Nothing else._ “Lou.” Louis feels his face scrunch up like it’s not his, like he has no control over it and he doesn’t, squints at the ceiling a little bit and Harry comes close, kneels in front of him on the floor of the couch and Louis can’t look at him but he does. He feels like a kid again, completely vulnerable to someone else on a whole separate level that’s rare now but still just as uncomfortably familiar, raw to the whole fucking world. Harry doesn’t let him look away, puts his hands to his face and holds him, comes closer and Louis lets himself sigh. Closer. Cries if only for the tenderness of it, for the life they've spent together and the so much still ahead, for Harry's eyes already closed. His mouth meets his just briefly, as if a seal, and then skips past. Lets him breathe him in and he's still crying, Harry saying _Lou why didn't you talk to me, we should have talked about it_ every other breath.Is there a word for this. Thinks faintly of _unconditional_ , _.. for love. Types of emotion ... four distinct words …agápe, éros, philía, and storgē. However ..._ Harry's hands behind his ears, fingers gentle at the hair that's grown too long there, brow furrowed when Louis opens his eyes, wants to make him stop needing to do this but needs it for now, right now. Closes his eyes again, lets it slow between them, moves his hands from the cushion he's been holding too tight to the skin at his forearms, _Things I can._ That it's always been _can_ between them. His neck over his shoulder, _tiny dots on an endless timeline._ Harry is crying too, the quiet kind Louis has come to associate with him and a movie or the national anthem, and he feels relief, holds him to him, anchored to right now and it's almost like a suggestion in the back of his head, _and there is this burning_ and he pictures a tectonic plate shifting back into place or the click of the shutter. The small details that make it all fall into place, the light on the film, soundtrack coming in to guide it into whatever's next. Harry curls into him on the couch after, goes through it page by page and talks about the last shots of _Russian Ark_ with the grand ball and then the ocean, "Remember when we saw that, what was it, like, November? Two years ago now? Man." Louis hums a _yeah_ and lets it go, remembers that trip as the first stages of S and how distracted he'd been, always someone else in the back of his head. The theatre a twenty minute subway trip, the subway ride quicker with someone else there to experience it. How full of potential everything had seemed, the novelty of Harry not used to what was just everyday for Louis despite his other trips to visit, and of S inviting him to parts of the city that were exciting and unfamiliar, scenes he'd never ventured into and nights he could blur together. The lone three bulbs that blinked on the marquee. Is already rewriting the order, needs the meadow scene to cut to the streetlights and then the back of the car. “Who’s AC?” pulls him back to it, Harry readjusting his head on Louis’ chest so his hair reaches into his mouth, “Anne Carson.” The last lines haven’t changed since the first complete rewrite.   
_And now time is rushing towards them where they stand_  
_side by side with arms touching, immortality on their faces,_  
_night at their back._

 

 

~~~~~~~

 

He can’t think of anyone else doing it besides Liam once he thinks of it, something about the initial thought process, how it seems they’re tied together somehow from the way they grew up, that Liam never doubts him. Not in any blatant, unflagging way, but that when he asks if he’d be interested he shrugs and says yes with _of course_. He makes Harry come along to the first shoot to hold his shit under the pretense of “needing a second set of eyes” but he does end up helping, keeps Liam from freezing to death waiting while Louis changes lenses out or walks a quarter of a mile down the beach to get b-roll long shots, shouting “LOU AM I IN THE SHOT HERE,” and then jumping around like a goddamn monkey. Liam laughs regardless, distracted from the temperature of the water for the moment. The shot Lou really wants gets him in too and he feels reckless with the cold shock of it, uses his trusty method of saran wrap and three plastic bags to waterproof the camera and goes for it. They set up so Louis is still able to touch bottom, just past waist-deep so he can move quickly enough to keep up but Liam is deep enough to swim, ten feet away from him. Harry’s sitting on the sand watching and yelling, “Lou, shouldn’t he swim north? The sun!” and Louis flips him off and doesn’t change his mind, nods at Liam with an _if you’re ready_. He dunks his head under and pulls his arms back in a stretch then goes, and Louis knows how it looks to swim in the Atlantic, has been swimming here as long as he’s been alive, practically, but it’s so striking to see him do it that for a moment he watches from above the viewfinder, moves along next to him and traces his path through the water just recording without looking, trusts it’s going to be right. It is. 

 

When he gets home later he lets Harry watch him edit, takes his pointing and spiels about continuity seriously for once, knows Zayn would fit right in with them so easily right now. Calls him after an hour of watching and rewatching, Harry telling him to move over and let him try something. He answers on the fourth ring, just before it goes to voicemail.

 

“Hey Lou, how is it? D’you do alright?” all excited and Louis loves him so much,

“Yeah, yeah, it looks good. It looks really good.” Harry smiles over at him for a second and Louis smiles back, turns away so he isn’t distracted.

“Sick. How’d Liam do?” Louis can hear some music playing in the background, wants to know what he’s doing but also doesn’t, misses that apartment and Zayn in it, his dumb movie posters from high school in the living room. Laughs once, “Yeah yeah, he did great. Nearly froze him solid but all in a day’s work,” and Zayn laughs but Louis knows he’s rolling his eyes too, pictures them shooting in the snow in Brooklyn in the middle of the night two winters ago, now.

“Yeah, nothing new there. He’s alright with it?” “Yeah, didn’t go shy at all. I was surprised,” and Harry chimes in, “Me too,” so Louis turns and tells him to shut up, watches the screen for a minute, Zayn hums into the speaker. Thinks he’s maybe cooking something but can’t tell if it’s him actually cooking or just moving around the way he does on the phone. God, he misses him.  
“So when are you coming down?”

Zayn’s laughs and pauses a second, sounds like he’s putting him on speakerphone, “Was thinking next month actually? First half, maybe,” and Louis doesn’t want to interrupt him but can’t help the “No shit!” that comes out of his mouth, “Yeah, Arthur’s got a break scheduled for a shoot in L.A. and he said I could go with or take a few days off, so,” “Perfect! That’s absolutely perfect. God, can’t wait.”   
“I know. I’ll let you know details. Think it’s like, second week.”  
Harry’s watching him like he’s waiting for something, now, and Zayn’s definitely cooking, can hear the sizzle of something in a pan, so Louis lets him go. 

“Send me something to look at, Lou, I’m starved for anything sunny.” Louis imagines the trees along his street all hardly green now, the bright red one around back, tries not to envy him. He’s got palm trees, whatever. “Okay, will. Hopefully we’ll shoot something else soon. We’ll see.”  
Knows Zayn’s nodding into the phone as he says, “Good, that’s good. Love you. Tell Harry hi for me.”  
“Will do, you too.” He hangs up as Zayn says goodbye. 

 

Harry's brilliant idea is paused on the screen and he makes Louis turn the lights off for it, “to get the full effect.” He’s set up some footage he took on his phone from the beach of them shooting side by side to the footage Louis shot in the water and it looks great together, Louis lets his mind shuffle through the implications _camera in the shot is viewer present and simultaneously removed, is that good or bad here, supposed to be about magnitude and persistence, if I'm in it what now, who does Liam become then, and Harry, what's that camera represent._ Watches it three times, on the fourth decides it's something worth exploring if he can't figure out why it works or feels right. 

"Alright alright, that’s nice, Styles. You’re learning shit at that liberal arts school after all.” Harry rolls his eyes at him but smiles into the hand he’s resting his head on, looks proud of himself. “I dunno, just seems like you should be putting the other half of it into this, you know?”   
Louis knows what he means, maybe, but can’t help it. “Other half of what?”

“Like, you’ve got a lot of hints at the other side of whatever, like, for all these endings or this _idea_ of ending, a lot of it could be beginnings too. Starts. Like that shot with the lighter, once you shoot it I think it’s going to be more about lighting it than whatever… I dunno. And this _is_ about you, whether or not you’re in it…So like, you being in it is like, maybe it’s good.” Something about the ways each of them deal with confrontation, whatever. Louis knows what he’s getting at. Doesn’t want to talk about it. He makes a face, shoos Harry out of his chair.   
“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see,” and leaves it, opens up the doc he and Zayn have been working on, most of the script hashed out and lots of Zayn asking questions via comments (“is this a Wyeth reference” “how the hell are we going to get a helicopter” “what about a cut here to the meadow and then back to the street after”) and writes _credit H. Styles for side-by-side same frame, beach stuff. try with other footage once we have it to work with_ at the top, Harry looking over his shoulder. 

 

He sends Liam a text later thanking him again and gets a quick “no probbbb, let me know if you wanna do anything else” and has to grin, hasn’t really told Liam he may or may not be the main actor in this and writes back, “Would love to, if you’re up for it. What’s your schedule like this week?” 

 

~~

 

He shoots a few things the days between the stuff he’s scheduled with Liam, focuses on getting the shots he can do on his own out of the way. Most of it’s landscape, things out in the field, but there are a few performance things he doesn’t have the nerve to ask anyone else into, thinks maybe they should be just his anyway. He sets up in the garage, one night, late, after the rest of the house is asleep upstairs. Just a backdrop and the camera on a tripod across the space so it’s far but not close enough his whole body is in it, standing there. He’d taken a couple performance classes but had always been the one to go the opposite direction, try for something less serious, open to messing with what the expected outcome could be for whatever assignment they had, _demonstrate an action you know so well you can do it with your eyes closed; demonstrate an action you have never done before_. Usually that meant some kind of fooling around where the rest of the class challenged intimacy or the limits of the body, but he kind of wishes he had the practice now, at going at it alone and facing the vulnerability head-on rather than through the guise of humor, or whatever it was. For all the reminiscing he’s doing about art school when it comes to it the shot isn’t about performance, or it is, but it’s more about S and the last time, what’s the name for the last thing you do before you have to move on. When it _is_ too much, when you can’t anymore, and he’s past the bitterness now, he thinks, but this is still about that, bitter and hurt and blinded with it. He stands there a long time, until he doesn’t hear the camera’s nearly silent whirr, and he doesn’t think of anything but the way S had looked the first time they’d met. _In the case of a_[ _bow and arrow_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bow_and_arrow) _, the energy is converted from the potential energy in the archer's arm to the potential energy in the bent limbs of the bow when the string is drawn back. When the string is released, the potential energy in the bow limbs is transferred back through the string to become_[ _kinetic energy_](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kinetic_energy) _in the arrow as it takes flight. The arrow takes flight. There are things we cannot learn except through action._ He falls to his knees. 

 

~~~~~~~

 

Zayn’s flight gets in in the evening, five something but Louis doesn’t remember exactly, gets there at 4:30 just because he’s already spent the whole day waiting for it and can’t concentrate on anything else. His mom practically shoves him out the door (“I can’t do anything with you in here, this meal is going to be completely ruined with your nerves, _go on already_ ”) and so there he is, an hour and thirteen minutes early according to the arrivals screen. 

 

It’s an eternity of Candy Crush and texting Niall and Harry too much before Zayn walks out looking so fucking cool Louis can hardly stand it; leather jacket and black jeans, his oldest Docs all worn at the edges, hair all grown out and shaggy around his ears. Louis is so happy to see him he can’t even roll his eyes, just grins as he walks over and gives him the best hug he’s ever given anyone, maybe, definitely, the same smell of cigarettes over his shoulder. He breathes in and holds it, lets the sound of the airport drift past them and time slow just a moment, can’t help it. The last time they saw each other was at JFK in June, Zayn dropping him off at his terminal and hugging him across the front seat, Louis walking inside and out of sight quick enough to be able to turn back and watch him pull away into the traffic of taxis and shuttles, other people going places. He’d been distracted then, anxious to get through the next ten hours to Paris but Zayn had said goodbye with “Take care of yourself, Lou,” and he’d smiled, said, “Will do,” like he meant it/ hadn’t meant it, apparently, had a rough time and everything pulled out from under him overseas. Zayn had been his layover in New York, fresh from London but not to Charleston yet, exhausted but sick enough of being quiet with it that he’d called and told him everything, talked about his work with Jan and his fears he’d disappointed him somehow, not lived up to what _Spectacle_ had seemed to promise (hadn’t checked his email yet, seen the letter Jan had sent three days ago), about his mistakes with S and that he was terrified he’d make them over and over again, unable to balance any kind of work with any kind of relationship, that he was scared of losing Zayn too, moving home, out of New York to a city a fraction of the size with hardly any interest in anything like what he was. All of that blurred with the relief of being back in a country that spoke his language, just walking past a family arguing about whose hamburger had pickles on it, understanding that. Zayn had responded the only way he would, listening and frowning when he replied, correcting him, not letting him get away with that kind of worrying, or that kind of pain or whatever. The difference between a mistake and a failure, neither something Louis had ever let himself learn, the kind of harsh but gentle way Zayn has for calling him out on his bullshit, insisting on a better story ( _who wouldn’t? a forest then. beautiful trees. ... etc)_. It’s the longest they’ve been apart in the four years they’ve known each other, and the first time Zayn’s made it down to Charleston. Feels a bit like the stars aligning and a bit like his restless energy the past few days was all for naught. Zayn still has this effortless way of just fitting the loose parts of Louis back into their places, and as they walk to the car he can't help but put his arm around his shoulders, like a tether, or as a wrestler being helped out of the ring. 

 

His mom’s made quiche for dinner, does that thing she does when they walk in where it’s as if Zayn is a soldier home from war, gives him a long hug that Zayn pulls away from smiling all soft and Louis hears her accent so strong whenever they’re around someone very northern. “Hey, Zayn, come on in, make yourself at home,” and they’ve met before a handful of times, on her visits to New York but she’s always done this, acted like they’ve known each other forever. Louis used to attribute it to southern hospitality but he thinks it’s more than that now, some kind of trust she has in who he chooses to form friendships with. Niall’s been around a lot more and she’s been the same, going out of her way to learn about him and keeping some IPA in the fridge in the garage for him special. Loves her so much regardless but it’s just nice, knowing she’ll spend the whole meal asking Zayn about his sisters and what he’s been doing besides working too hard. 

 

Zayn’s only met Harry before now; Niall someone he’s heard of in passing and with more frequency the past few months but not actually seen besides whatever social media, and Liam completely new. Harry is a great host, as is typical, starts talking about one of his regulars and feeding them cheese and crackers he’s pulled from somewhere and they all make fun of his attempts at an impression. Louis is hardly paying attention, half doesn’t need to, half distracted by Zayn, by Niall, by Liam, the five of them around the counter, bottles of Palmetto in their hands. He’d resisted making any solid plans for the night but everyone’s in such good spirits he can’t resist dragging them for karaoke, walking the fifteen minutes with Zayn at his side, the cobblestones under their feet “just fuckin’ charming,” and Louis laughs, doesn’t give a shit. “We’re known for this shit, Zayn, if you don’t like it you can-” “I never said I didn’t like it,” and it’s Niall that pipes up, “Lou he _said_ it was charming. That’s a compliment,” and of course Harry can’t resist, “Yeah, just because you’ve never been called charming-” and Louis groans, rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why I’m friends with any of you.” Zayn pulls him into a headlock, “Right back at you, bro, we really get the shit end of it, I think,” and Louis has to wiggle his way out, pokes at his side where he knows he’s ticklish and runs and jumps on Niall’s back, “Yeah yeah, we’ll see about that after tonight.” 

 

Zayn is just past pretty drunk; Louis has only seen him worse one birthday and a few parties freshman year but not for lack of trying, just that Zayn tends to drink very casually and never beyond his threshold to _actually_ drunk. But here they are, all well on their way to very close to sloppy, Harry with his vodka tonic gesturing something about Kesha and Liam nodding along, something about her songwriting abilities. Niall beside them, could clearly care less and keeps glancing at Louis completely lacking subtlety. It's very endearing, and Louis is feeling good enough to volunteer himself and Harry as first in their group to sing, picks “Summer of ‘69” from the binder of songs on file without telling him. It's one of their ultimate radio jams from right after Louis got his license when he was 17 and didn't have an iPod; they both know all the words from that summer being idiots driving around with nothing better than the classic rock radio station that still plays Bon Jovi every hour. Harry sashays onstage carrying his beer bottle and when the first [ riff](https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CCIQyCkwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D9f06QZCVUHg%26feature%3Dkp&ei=x3rEU5O0HsOHyASMjIFI&usg=AFQjCNGdRuVeB6Mf3m_he7iCz88ZOY4CWQ&sig2=nt1yEeTuXK3-eKG9iU8hwQ&bvm=bv.70810081,d.aWw) starts he actually lights up, looks at Louis with a grin and it’s immediately worth whatever embarrassment they’re about to inflict on themselves. By tradition Louis gets first verse, comes in with _I got my first real six string/ bought it at the five and dime_ and when he turns from the screen, doesn’t need it anyway, Harry has his eyes closed grinning, just swaying with his bottle raised, singing along with his mic at hip-level. The bar is ecstatic, Niall a mix of awe and completely fond amusement, Liam smiling all big and Zayn shaking his head laughing at their table. When Harry does the first chorus bridge with him it’s as if nothing’s happened in the five years since then, Louis doesn’t think about it but it’s so much at the moment he has to blink a few times and consciously get back into the song. _Standin’ on your mama’s porch, you told me that it’d last forever/ Oh and when you held my hand, I knew that it was now or never/ Those were the best days of my life_. They do it big, bust out the harmonies they learned from the front seat for the two verses that have it, hold each other by the shoulders through the whole ending of the song. The whole bar sings them through it, everyone abandoning their conversations for a few lines about shit most of them weren’t even alive for. Something about nostalgia that every generation passes down, that the words for it don’t really matter.

 

They take their bows and pass their mics off to a group of girls doing Cyndi Lauper and Louis takes a drink from his beer to hide his smile in, Niall grinning over at him as they make their way back to the table. Feels good to have this kind of history between them, parallel to Harry but separate, just theirs. Niall’s bought next round including a row of shots, has them waiting in front of each of their seats expectantly, and Louis is suddenly reminded of a winter break stop here two years ago, ending up at their house a few beers later and only realizing after that he hadn’t paid in for their tab. Stumbling out of the kitchen toward Niall’s room with some kind of protest on the tip of his tongue, _Just because I’m drunk, I’m really drunk, just because I am very drunk does not mean_ digging in his pocket for his wallet and discovering it wasn’t there at all, _what the hell did you do._ Niall coming around the hallway shirtless and tossing Louis’ wallet to him, raising an eyebrow after he picked it up off the floor… “Just owe me next time,” a shrug. So far he and Zayn are fine, keeps catching them watching each other a bit, just the slightest idea that they’re intimidated by each other and isn’t that sort of funny. Niall of course is the least intimidating person he’s ever met and imagining meeting Zayn for the first time makes him probably the _most_ , but like, it’s also something to be _between_ them, that both of them are there for him, because of him. He puts a hand to Niall’s knee under the table with the intention of using it to lean over but the way he jumps at the touch is too funny and he has to laugh first, then apologizes at his scowl and says, “Sorry, sorry, was just going to tell you I still owe you from that one winter so I’m paying tonight, alright?” and if they were at a smaller bar or a corner table he’d kiss the corner of his mouth at the way he frowns but he doesn’t, just looks at him insistent until he rolls his eyes and nods. “Yeah fine, least this way I don’t have to limit myself at all, do I? Not my wallet that’s going under.” Louis makes a face that doesn’t really work with the way he’s smiling anyway and Zayn bumps his shoulder into him and asks if he’s waiting for an audience to do his shot. “Yeah, yeah I am, and you’re plenty an audience, thank you,” and he swallows it back, pretends not to notice Zayn’s arm resting against Liam’s next to him. The table is small but it’s not quite _that_ small, but he’s always picked his battles. Strategy.

 

The night’s winding down by the time they push Liam and Zayn onstage, most of the tables emptied and people gathered by the door to leave. Niall takes his turn picking the song and as soon as the beat starts Harry and Louis are grabbing him, laughing into his shoulders. “You’ve got to be kidding me, perfect, Ni, perfect” and he only turns away so he can see their faces, both smiling and shaking their heads, Zayn twisting his mouth like _goddamnit_ and Louis has seen it a hundred times but not like this, not with an underlying _okay fine then_ , like he’s accepting a challenge. Liam points at Niall all _you better watch yourself after_ but doesn’t miss his cue, “I got my eyes on you, you’re everything that I see” turning back to Zayn and Louis imagines the three of them at the table just melting to the floor, that classic ‘it’s funny until it’s not funny at all,’ Liam can _sing_ and Zayn is dancing in this way that is so _so_ stupid but so attractive because it’s _Zayn_ , and he’s drunk and doesn’t care, has the usual _yes I know_ still there beneath it but so is his shitty poker face, lets Liam have the whole song practically but hits every ad lib and falsetto, unbelievable. And like, Louis studies interactions, thinks about them all the time, how to distill the way people treat each other, the looks and touches that are bigger than the subtly they act at, but just the eye contact between them on the shitty stage in the dim red lighting of the space, it’s so past enough. Lucky they’re in Charleston, he thinks, not whatever small town Liam’s from that wouldn’t let them dare, not New York that would frame it into something less pure. Zayn just casual and self-assured, Liam earnest and clearly absolutely loves this song. Charleston forgiving their fumbles as something that’ll get blurred into the night Zayn and Liam sang Drake at karaoke and absolutely killed the game. 

 

~~

 

Niall offers to take them sailing the next morning, all five of them, and through the haze of his hangover Louis can hardly bring himself to agree but mumbles an _okay, sure_ into his pillow before opening his eyes. He didn't really forget that Zayn can't swim, really, but at his noticeably paler skin color over his coffee cup he kind of has to give him a _you okay?_ look that he immediately nods and shrugs off. Doesn’t make eye contact again and that’s what has him suspicious, but when he asks later he shrugs him off. “I’m fine, I’ll just make some tea to take. Eat some peppermints. Sit down the whole time.” “Zayn, we don’t have to go, we can just-” and Zayn rolls his eyes in that way that means he’s not going to change his mind but he’s smiling, so Louis lets it go. 

 

By the time he manages to get the door shut and the car locked with his arms full of fishing rods and his tackle box the four of them are almost out of sight, Zayn hanging back a bit with Liam from Niall and Harry laughing as they turn onto the docks. He can’t move fast enough to really catch up with the awkward amount of dumb supplies in his arms and when he finally gets to the boat he finds Harry and Liam already throwing Doritos at each other, trying to catch them in their mouths. Zayn’s rifling through the benches up top with Niall and comes up with a life jacket two seconds later, Niall says an “Alright, there we go, perfect.” Zayn visibly relaxes once he buckles it across his front and Louis has to turn away to not laugh at how much affection he’s got inside his chest, catches Liam’s eye as he does and he shakes his head, can hardly see his eyes through his smile. 

 

~~~~~~~

 

He’s been saving a few scenes for when Zayn’s there just because of crew; for all of Harry’s help holding gear and framing and whatever, there’s no comparison to what Zayn is like to have with him. They balance each other, hardly have to speak about what they’re doing to just do it. He and Liam have done a few days of shooting by this point, as well, and he’s even more comfortable in front of the camera than he had been swimming, but Zayn there now has added this bit of tension to it, like the both of them are super self-aware of themselves. The shots he needs are going to be challenging and he’s nothing if not direct but is also kind of interested in that side of both of them, has half a mind to use it to an advantage. Everything Zayn does all the time is considered, even just the way he walks, but there’s something distinctly different to him when it’s because of someone else, or in front of someone else. Liam is the focused kind of quiet Louis has come to associate with him before they start, and he respects that, but it’s also something about this set of scenes that makes him want to push the boundaries a little, like he can’t help it.

 

They walk far enough that the road is completely out of hearing range; it’s the middle of the morning on a weekday so not likely to be busy but that’s the kind of risk Louis knows better than to take. They don’t speak until Louis walks off the trail, into the woods and Liam says “Alright, whoops,” as he missteps trying to follow. Louis catches Zayn’s eye as he turns and he’s smiling, has to smile back, roll his eyes a bit.  

 

“It’s like a trust fall, think of it like that. Except you’re extending it. And moving.” Both of them are looking at him and nodding, albeit slowly, but Louis can tell Zayn is hardly even trying to hide how much he wants to protest. Louis can just hear him _this wasn’t in the script, I hardly know him_ and then the _that’s the point, I know, I know_. _Asshole._ If he weren’t so vulnerable right now he’d probably smirk. Louis grabs the camera and has them stand next to each other, holds the light meter next to Liam’s arm where the sun is coming through and then by their ankles where it’s darker, walks away. “You wanna rehearse, probably,” as he goes, leaves them to it and takes his phone out. Niall’s texted him _dare you to play some Drake for them_ and it’s almost _too_ good, texts him back and replies to his mom too, plays a game of 2048. When he looks up Zayn is just about to catch Liam and he does, Liam falls into his arms and they don’t laugh so it can’t be the first time, or maybe Louis knows less than he thought he did. He hits record.

 

One of the stronger reasons he’s asking this scene of Zayn is his ability to surprise him. Where Louis has always gone for the quick emotional response, Zayn goes around it, will skip through to something else that’s close but on his own terms. The surprise is what he’s counting on, and after a couple takes of him and Liam getting through it without breaking, the third take in Zayn loses it, just goes at Liam with no control, no thought for anything but the way their bodies don’t fit, the weight and shift of the two of them, tripping over each other. He drags Liam past the boundary of the frame and Louis doesn’t yell cut, just lets him go til they stop, breathing hard and staring at each other. He looks away, feels winded. 

 

They spend the evening and well into the night editing in Louis’ basement, cut after cut. It’s a strange thing to have so much footage, almost everything. Could have a final cut probably, out of it, if they tried. Niall and Harry bring pizza and beer and Louis is pretty sure Liam and Zayn are texting each other across the room but he doesn’t comment, lets them have it like the idiot high school boys they both are at heart. It’s past midnight when they finally watch through and no one has any suggestions- Liam’s asleep in his corner of the couch and Niall and Harry are pretty close to it, leaning on each other like any night at home. Zayn yawns for maybe the fiftieth time so Louis calls it, stands up and gathers every blanket and pillow from his room and the linen closet down the hall, throws them in a pile in the middle of the room. He’s trying to get his sleeping bag out of the back of his closet when Zayn asks into the doorway, “We have time for breakfast tomorrow?” “Yeah, your flight’s at like, noon, yeah?” He finally feels it and yanks hard, quick enough that the pile of things that fall after don’t hit him. “We’ll just have to set an alarm. Harry wakes up early anyway.” Zayn smiles and says alright, takes his sleeping bag from him. “Everyone else claimed all the other blankets, bro.” “Of course they did.”

 

Harry is the definition of bull in a china shop every morning, has been for as long as they’ve known each other. He knows where everything is to make coffee, they keep their bananas on the counter, Louis has actual kid siblings that wake up at dawn, and Harry still manages to wake everyone up before eight regardless, Zayn only slightly functioning as they make their way upstairs. It’s a bit of a consolation that Harry has bacon and eggs and biscuits already cooking, wearing Louis’ mom’s apron and smiling apologetically at them. No one complains.

 

Zayn must still be waiting to board when he sends a bunch of texts one after the other,   
_thanks again Lou, had a blast_  
_glad I finally got to see what’s so great about Charleston_  
_footage looks good too. send me that cut, don’t forget_  
He’s driving so doesn’t respond right away, just makes his turn into the neighborhood and smiles.

 

~~~~~~~

 

It's not unusual for South Carolina to experience a bit of hurricane season every year, but it's usually just the remnants of a storm, a few days of heavy rain and thunderstorms and maybe the marshes flood a bit, lose power, whatever. Every few years they get one more or less directly, but it’s lost its thrill since they’re not closing school so they can play in the streets. Either way, every hurricane comes with its advanced notice, usually at least a week of preparation (stocking up on beer and whatever dry goods are still on the shelves) (pop tarts) so that by the time the storm actually comes in it’s less climactic and more just inconvenient. They got warning for _Paulette_ on Tuesday, the first and probably only storm this season that’s headed into the coast and not Florida first. Estimated arrival is for Sunday and honestly Louis is more excited for the Carolina-Atlanta game than anything else, just plans to watch from Niall and Harry’s in the hopes they’ll have power longer than he would out in Mount Pleasant. His mom is insistent he spend the night at theirs Saturday so he doesn’t get stranded (as if the storm would just spring up all the sudden) so he packs an actual bag that he lets her put extra flashlights and batteries in, kisses her cheek and drives over in the morning. Harry’s got a party to go to and Niall isn’t going so he can write a paper, something, Louis thinks it’s sweet of him and isn’t saying anything about it. He’s over college parties and it’s close enough to Halloween that people are using every excuse they can to have costume bullshit and he’s just not into it. He’s got his backpack with fucking flashlights and batteries so whatever, if anything maybe he can convince him to marathon The Office until they lose power. 

 

“I left all our stuff out the other night,” mouth looking grim but eyes kind of like, open in a suspicious way. Louis can’t help the grin on his own face, “…Wanna go get it?”

Louis has his camera aimed out the window as they drive, the weather report on the radio Niall’s always got on issuing the standard _Head indoors, everyone, we may only be getting the edge of the storm but that’s enough. The worst of it’ll be here within just a few hours_. Louis wonders how well that’ll come through the shitty built-in mic, thinks about The Big Storm Trope and what a camera is to a hurricane. Thelma’s been hurricane ready since the summer ended, Horan tradition to be ready for anything anytime according to Niall, but they’ve made it a tradition over the past couple months to spend the night every once in a while. Niall calls them Magic Boat Nights; sometimes he’ll take them out to actual open sea and others they’ll just coop up in the marina, watch a movie and make out lazy until one of them dozes off.It’s a ten minute drive to the marina and Niall has to jump out to open the gate to the parking lot; from what Louis can tell it’s only them in the whole block, not even security on duty. Niall gets back in and shakes his head at him, just a sprinkle of rain falling at the moment. “We’re gonna get drenched getting back in later...” Louis raises his eyebrows like _isn’t that the point_ and Niall grins, pulls the Land Rover in and parks it. 

 

Niall stands there a second, next to the driver’s side just looking at Louis when he turns to see what’s taking so long, and Louis has half a second to wonder what he’s thinking and practically simultaneously marvel at Niall _stopping_ to think, before he’s running at him and hopping on his back for a piggyback. Louis nearly topples over trying to hang on to his camera and the mass of idiocy now attached to his back but Niall grabs for the camera and then kicks him in the thigh with a “Giddy-up,” thinks about the teenage punk ass kid version of himself that wouldn’t have dared leave the house much less head straight to the harbor, smiles into Niall’s arm around his neck. He doesn’t really have the upper body strength for carrying a full grown idiot on his back but it’s not much farther, and the way the clouds are coming in is encouraging enough to hurry the last bit. When they get in Niall unlocks the cabin and sets his camera down, Louis starts a pile inside the cabin of the shit they left out, a cooler and extra pillows, whatever. When they’re finished they climb out onto the front of the boat and look down into the water from there, leaned on the chrome of the bar at the edge. Niall says something about the waves coming in and they watch for a while, Louis spits into the waves and eventually follows him back to the habitable part of the boat, feels a bit seasick which is miraculous but also yeah, maybe they should head home. Thelma looks kind of sad this empty, like a lost puppy abandoned to the storm when they leave.

 

The streets downtown flood and they do get stranded at home, but the damage is more water than wind, power gets restored the next day after they sweat the night out on the couches drinking the case of beer that had already been open in the fridge while Niall plays dumb songs on his guitar and Harry and Louis make up the words to _American Pie_. Candles and an old lantern from Harry’s camping supplies and the flashlights Louis brought along pointed at the ceiling, the light soft and the whole city made of wind and rain. The three of them wind up in the whirlpool tub in Niall’s bathroom, just on the edge of uncomfortable were it not for every pillow in the house accompanying them and they fall asleep finally, like that, Harry the first to go. Niall pushes the hair off Harry’s face and Louis watches, leans his head back and scoots down a little farther to adjust the strain, thinks, _so come on Jack, be nimble, Jack be quick_ and closes his eyes.

 

~~~~~~~

 

He finishes the last edit the first of December, sends it to Zayn immediately and a text _think it’s done_. By chance Harry has the afternoon off and wants to know why he’s in such a weird mood so he sits him down to watch it while he takes a shower, comes out to him just lying on his bed. He misses S, then, sharply and just for a moment, but it’s there, doesn’t know why really. Something about being done and knowing it, feeling it, and knowing it’s his, not theirs in any way this time. Thinking on it, the same feeling that had made him pan over to the empty space next to Harry in the field, or settle on Zayn looking into the camera. It had always been about the idea of someone just out of the frame, just out of sight. Someone missing. Where it started was the distance between S and Louis, the distance between New York and London, and then London and Paris and the couch in the living room and the bed in the goddamn bedroom. _The distance between two points increases over time._ All of it. Harry’s crying a bit so Louis throws a towel at him.

It had been a hard lesson with his earliest attempts at storytelling, that what he means his work to say isn’t the only meaning there, if his idea even ends up in it at all, and he isn’t blind, or likes to think he isn’t, at least, but he feels like he is with _Rapture_. All nineteen minutes feel like him headed straight for Niall around the corner, but he’s the only one with access to the epilogue. Films don’t get epilogues. _Rapture_ is the lead-up, the last thirty seconds of the maze, physically feeling the exit become an escape. Louis flops down beside him thinking about the first draft of the script he’d shown him but doesn’t get past the base of it, how long ago that feels.

 

He’s in bed with Niall later watching _Lost_ , or sort of is, mostly distracted and sleepy with Niall’s hands in his hair. The episode ends and Niall presses pause so it doesn’t continue, shifts Louis forward from the base of his ribs where he’s been resting. “Alright, Lou, show me the film before you fall asleep on me,” _leave it to Niall, god,_ and Louis feels himself go quiet but opens it anyway, stops from pressing play to kiss him, presses a hand to his chest and settles where he knows he had freckles from the summer that have since disappeared. When he pulls back after a moment Niall is smiling soft at him, “Are you really that nervous?” and Louis rolls his eyes and turns back to his laptop, hits full screen and lets it play. The opening shot is fifty seconds long and has a [single](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdXozAsJ-xg) note on the piano in his mom’s office building on repeat for all fifty of them marking every half second. Black and white, just two hands against a gray background, touching each other, and he can’t really ever watch his work, can’t separate himself from the process and writing behind it- filming this shot is a blur of the half-circle dolly he’d invented out of a wagon and the two actors on the floor each with one arm in the air, _A man takes his sadness and throws it away / but then he's still left with his hands;_ they’d laughed the first few takes and then it had been different and Louis had become an intruder. He knows the first fifty seconds of the film are painful to watch but he also knows they’re magnetic. Harry had called it paralyzing. Niall next to him is still, the light of the screen reflecting off his face and Louis falls back onto his pillow, watches from there. Zayn's biggest influence is the next scene, straightforward, even with Liam and him walking through the woods at Francis Marion. They'd gone with the dusk footage for this earlier section, almost too dark to make out any of the features of the two of them, but still apparent after. Louis feels like he's back in his first film class critique, showing the work he'd done in high school to a professor he didn't know and a room full of students that all seemed either light years ahead of him or separately behind, practically shaking with nerves. It's silly, he knows it is, knows Niall is going to get it, but he can't help it. That’s part of it. Knows he's the only audience after everything, that whether or not S sees it doesn't matter, that they needed Jan in Paris and Aiden in Chicago and Danny in LA to see it too, but Niall has always been what _Rapture_ represents, who Louis worked hard for, would always work hard for. The kind of good that means _you belong here_ , the _with me_ only incidental but all the more important for it. It's a series of quicker cuts then, Harry curled up in the meadow, Liam swimming and Louis shooting it, the headlights of a car in his neighborhood, the lighter in slow motion. Niall reaches for him at the long shot in the garage and Louis lets him pull him close, turns his head into his chest and doesn’t watch it. Feels Niall flinch at the cut.

 

He'd had Harry do the voiceover for the end, waits for his whisper like a gauntlet. _My applejack, my silent night_ , the two of them on top of the car, ankles hitting against the window, airplane taking off above them. The cliches he wanted to matter. And then Liam on his bike again, past their house and down King Street through the traffic, Louis can never watch it without remembering Harry almost crashing as he filmed from the back wheel of Harry’s stupid fixed gear with no brakes, hurtling through an intersection and Liam breaking character to look back and laugh in surprise. The last cut right after, on top of the roof, _And now time is rushing toward them where they stand…_

 

"Where'd the title come from?" He's dragging a finger slow across his chest and Louis shivers from it, stares at the ceiling. "Dunno, it just kind of happened. Harry had this thought early on that as much as it's about endings it's kind of by default also about beginnings, and rapture is this like, ultimate joy that’s _also_ tied to this idea of not being allowed except through death, or so the story goes…” He trails off, thinking about saying too much, not wanting to put it on Niall directly. “And etymologically speaking it has this violent tie to _to catch up_ or like, kidnapping even. Just a lot of conflicting meanings that ultimately end up as joy when it’s all on its own.” Niall doesn’t say anything, just keeps his thumb twirling on his skin and hums softly, the way he does when he’s sleepy but still listening. Louis doesn’t have anything else to say. Knows when he wakes up it’ll be to sunlight through the curtains, the last days of autumn. Should call Zayn, talk to his mom about that job, try to figure out what’s next. Save that for last.

 

~~~~~~ 

 

His phone buzzing under his pillow wakes him, catches sight of the _11:48 December 21_ same time as _Zayn_ so he's up, silences it and scoots out of bed as quietly as he can. Niall doesn't move at all and he shuts the door behind him, swipes to answer it. "Hey Zayn," and he gets a loud, "Afternoooon, Lou, how's the good ole Saturday night birthday weekend hangover?" Louis doesn't have it in him to fake it, feels like it should be six am, so out of it. Has hardly even registered if he _is_ hungover. "Fine, no 21 for sure. You woke me up, why are you disturbing me." Zayn laughs, in apparently an incredible mood for what should be an early Sunday morning for him too, "Just miss you, how was the rest of the night? Harry puke, at least? Or tell me Niall is going to be in some kind of suffering today on your behalf." "Yeah keep dreaming. He's Irish and a senior, I've yet to see him so much as grumpy in the morning..." "Well that could be for other reasons," and when Louis doesn't really respond there's a pause, knows Zayn knows instantly that something is wrong and just waits. "Did something happen? Are you alright?" The soft hesitance is enough, as if he already knows what he's about to say, just a matter of Louis getting the words out. He sighs, sits down on the couch on the back porch and sprawls out, closes his eyes. "Yeah, S called me right after we got back in last night." not sure why he keeps talking but Zayn is silent but for a quiet hum, can't stop. "Must have already been morning over there I guess. Said something about wanting to hear my voice and see how I'm doing before it'll be disturbing the holiday or whatever... Ended up crying together, I dunno, thought I was, like, better than that. I don't know." Zayn hums again, this time like _that's not fair_ let's it sit quiet between them just a moment. "That's the first time you've spoken, yeah?" "Yeah," if this were anyone else he would hate how defeated he sounds, feels altogether. S saying _Just wanted to say happy birthday, see how you're doing._ S saying _It was just what was inevitable, I think, we weren't meant to last forever. That would have been nice of you to tell me before I walked in your door like nothing was- I didn't call you to fight, Louis. No? Just to make yourself feel better?_ The quiet, the sudden lump in his throat, the light from the kitchen on a spot on the floor of the same porch in the dark. "Well at least that's over then. Even if the conversation wasn't so good." _Where are you? That's none of your business._ Hating the shake in his voice. _Louis I love you, and I_ am _sorry_. Had felt like they'd been talking three hours by the time Niall had stepped into the doorway looking like he'd already been asleep and woken up again, said he had to go, S apologizing for the time like it was only just now miraculously four am in the Western Hemisphere. Can't remember what he'd said as a goodbye. "I'm just still tired I think, it was fine. Good to know London hasn't been taken over by zombies." Gets a scoff laugh at that, "That's still debatable I think," and Louis smiles as well, lets him ramble about zombie vampires that camouflage really well or something, can only tell by their shitty middle of the night phone calls. They hang up after a quick recap of Harry doing the 18 Shots Challenge, Zayn insisting he send him the photos right away and go take him some water, a quick "Take care, Lou, you'll feel better with some coffee and Niall," before he goes. 

 

He sits there a while staring at his Recent Calls list and then just sitting, takes a minute to get motivated to actually get some semblance of a day started. He finally musters the energy as he makes out the sound of Harry's truck pulling in the drive and that's plenty reason to hide out in Niall's room another hour, avoiding Harry fresh from the gym. He turns the knob slowly, peeks his head forward to see if he's awake and it's definitely a sleepy Niall that smiles at him but he is. Shuts the door behind him hurried before Harry gets inside and when he looks back up at Niall he's smiling now, looking at him in a way that feels unworthy, completely sunshine through the clouds. Not that Niall is ever guarded with him, doesn’t think he’s really capable of getting mad to the point of letting it bottle up before he says something (that time with the french fry catapult), but that it’s still rare for him to catch him just _looking_ like that. Louis is all energy almost all the time, doesn’t stop to smell the roses and maybe that’s why, or maybe it’s just that Niall laughs too much for Louis to see past it for any fondness or affection. Whatever it is, Niall looks laid bare, hair all mussed from sleeping on his back and eyes soft, face saying something Louis can't put words to but makes him slow down, crawl back in next to him without the jump he'd been planning on. He loves him, knows it then no more than any other time but like looking into the sky and seeing a satellite among the stars. Like there it is. 

 

~~~~~~~

 

Everyone goes home for Christmas Eve celebrations, the house downtown empty by nightfall the twenty-third. Louis has always used the weekend before to celebrate his actual birthday but he lets Niall promise he’ll call him and Harry always does anyway, Zayn in his family’s cabin in upstate New York without service will probably email or text from the gas station down the road. His mom’s sisters and his grandparents come over for Christmas dinner rather than anything on Christmas Eve, just the bunch of them with his mom and Dan eating junk food around the television, idly texting Niall who’s live-updating the Horan secret beer chugging tournament. It’s a close tie before _Mom just found Greg’s stash of cans on the deck and now we’re all in for it… gotta go_ comes through and Louis smiles, puts his phone down. His mom brings out a birthday cake and he has two girls sitting in his lap to blow the candles out for him, everyone eats too much and they have the sparkling grape juice he’d grown up calling fancy. It’s perfect.

 

He thinks about Niall all night off and on, at home with his parents and Greg and Theo and the whole group of them in their huge dining room with the chandelier, probably a turkey or something fancy, and Harry, at home in Port Royal, the quiet street with more trees in the front yard than the back, his family, looks across the room at Lottie texting in between spooning baby food at the twins gurgling in their high chairs, his mom in the kitchen basting the ham. Hopes against everything just for a second that he never misses this, that whatever traditions his life claims this can last through it all. 

 

~~~~~~~

 

Harry’s thesis opening is his second week back from winter break; he’d spent most of the whole month off in the lab printing and doing mock-ups, securing the actual presentation. Been begging Louis’ help when he’s off work, going through sequence after sequence for the grid of smaller prints and moving the few installation pieces around inches different than before and staring at them for long dramatic moments before shifting them again. He’s distilled the project down into three main parts: the first finished grid Louis had seen of six larger square prints from his Hasselblad, the body ones, arranged in two rows of three; the wall adjacent with mostly smaller prints, from tiny to maybe a foot lengthwise arranged in his bizarre Tillmans style - all aligned to some grid that only Harry can magically establish; and what he’s calling the mail pieces - two big cardboard boxes that for now are empty stand-ins and an 18x24 shipping envelope. The final pieces are supposed to be a surprise for the opening and he’s being very firm in not telling what’s going on with them. Louis gets it but that doesn’t make it any easier to deal with Harry in his most frustrating form, indecisive and not looking for any actual input, just a voice to disagree with. He’s got piles of prints to go through so that’s what Louis does, mostly, pretends _i’m Far Away too_ is about anyone else, _you are a low hanging star, have to go_ _, just to prove to me that you can_. Can’t place all of them but it’s the photos too, he’s dug things up from years ago, he thinks, hotel parties he’d heard about days after and plenty with Niall, friends Louis has met at parties or seen on facebook, his backyard in Port Royal, the street they live on, Waffle House lighting his pick-up, girls looking into the lens, the sun setting into a palm tree. It feels like a goodbye, like he’s gathering an archive of some past he’s already ending. It feels like a goodbye.

 

Louis’ been working most days at his mom’s office, mornings doing the filing work she hired him for and afternoons downstairs with the Rebecca Motte Chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution office where they always have coffee and some kind of donut or muffins. They only sometimes put him to actual work as well, but all of them get distracted trying to keep up with whatever story they’re telling about their grandkids or the new restaurant opening on Broad Street; he’s completely reorganized their cabinets and showed them how to archive photos, started digitizing their budget books as well but it’s a daunting task and they don’t expect any miracles so he’s putting it off for the most part. It’s nice to have a routine besides the manic writing and rewriting of the fall, trying to just give himself time to figure out what’s next, what to do with _Rapture_ and whatever else he writes next. Lots of deep breaths.

 

His mom insists on them going to the opening together, comes downstairs at five on the dot so they can get dinner and it’s nice, she loves doing things like this, going out on the town or whatever. He’d say it’s indulging her but he likes it too; she’s one of his best friends, really, knows just about everything whether he tells her or not and they get along so well. Most of dinner is literally just them gossiping about the president of the DAR and whether or not she’s going to ever get remarried to the guy she divorced but still has lunch dates with regularly. She lets him get away with casually talking about Niall getting sick this week and leaves it at one of those knowing looks into her glass of wine, he loves her so much he makes the mistake of saying he took some of her frozen chicken noodle soup over to him and then she’s merciless. “Louis, that’s so ro _man_ tic.” He takes a drink, shakes his head. Goddamnit. “Did he look into your eyes as he slurped it? Or did you spoon-feed him,” and she’s laughing too hard to keep talking, “Yeah, yeah, very funny. My love life is a joke, please, enjoy.” When she catches her breath she’s still smiling that huge smile that makes her eyes crinkle the same way his do, “I’m only teasing. It’s good you have him.” And as if that wasn’t enough she keeps going, sets her glass down and looks at him across the table, “You’ve always been a nurturing kind of person, your heart’s too big to waste on someone that doesn’t need it.” He rolls his eyes, sort of, but there’s a lump in his throat he has to swallow down. It’s hard sometimes to line up who he is now with who he was a year ago, feels brand new but in a tired way, like he’s dragged his feet this far and what’s left is someone he doesn’t really know. Hadn’t ever thought he’d be here like this, and happy. He can’t deny that part, walking through downtown to the gallery, meeting his friends, getting a drink, seeing what Harry’s made. It’s a kind of happiness he hadn’t imagined and thus never expected. He’s grateful for it.

 

Harry shushes everyone and holds his drink out, pauses dramatically and Louis hates him, he really does. “Thank you everyone for coming, it means a lot. I couldn’t have done it without a few of you so thank you especially, blah blah blah, also, I’m officially announcing that I’m going to grad school in the fall in Chicago,” and the whole room drowns him out in cheers, Louis joins the rush of people that hug him with a hit to his chest, meets his eyes through it and grins wider. Is hardly surprised.

 

The show is really good; even despite Louis’ bias it feels complete in a way he’s not really felt from Harry’s work before. Each of the boxes are full of a huge pile of flowers, one with red roses and one with white, the kind of gesture that feels too honest, somehow. He has no idea how he afforded it, can’t imagine how much a thousand roses costs but the image itself is the perfect kind of immediate impression that gets better the closer you get, the more time you spend with it. He looks at it for a long few minutes, spots the shipping envelope resting against the red box from the other side as he walks around, full to bursting of these weird small flowers, the whole gradient of white to deep pink stuffed into it. Only as he finally gets past to the grid of smaller photos does he realize why he recognized them- sweet peas, from that lotion his mom had used when he was a kid, still in their old house. He googles it as he waits for the people in front of him to shift over, _The symbolic meaning of sweet peas is bliss, delicate pleasure, goodbye, departure, and thank you for a lovely time_ , and yeah, of course. Of fucking course. He puts his phone away and watches his mom talking to Harry’s mom, turns to look at the wall instead when she catches his eye with a smile. 

 

~~~~~~~

 

It’s raining when he wakes up, a Saturday in February when it hits him _six months._ The wrong kind of miracle. Ages since he’s thought about how much longer until it doesn’t matter, that one day he’ll wake up and go a whole day without running through the whole span of it again- of course it was too good to be true, no, anger, doubt, disbelief, the pain like a death, mourning like a death, grief like a death. The rain forecast for all day. February has always been hard. Even without the bitter cold, the snow and horror of New York, it’s grating. But here it is again. Knows it’s temporary but also knows this is so close to what his life could be; weekends off, holidays at home, a job that feels like any other job, a life he could take for granted. Harry’s leaving. _There were some nice parts, sure_ … 

Niall texts him good morning and he’s still in bed, thinks he’s probably at the library or wherever, _lazy potato doesn’t even make sense_ , can tell he’s smiling when he replies, _well I’m not the one sleeping the day away_ , _spud_. Knows, then, has to roll his eyes.

_Hi Harry_

There’s a pause, typing and then nothing for a minute,

_Sorryyyyyyy, idiot took my phone. We’re still at home too don’t let him fool you_

He smiles and then Niall switches over to their group chat,

_Harry said he’d make us barbecue for lunch, you should come over_

_I did not_

Louis rolls his eyes again, knows they’re probably sitting in the same room, probably even on the same couch with some golf tournament in California where it never rains on ESPN,  
_Okay, if Harry’s cooking anyway I’ll be there._ It’s better than a whole day in bed, like he wanted to. Better than not trying. It’s just a burger.

 

Harry is out on the porch manning the grill when he pulls up, wearing his swim shorts like the absolutely stubborn moron he is. “I told you if I’m out here getting rained on for your sakes I’m doing it on my terms,” and Louis has to bite his tongue from wondering why he’s wearing clothes at all then, just claps him on the back and says, “Smells great, champ,” as he passes by. Niall’s standing over a cutting board when he walks in, a pile of vegetables and potatoes in a strainer next to him. He looks up from his phone when Louis shuts the door, shrugs a bit. “I’m on vegetable duty, but like…” Trails off in a way that Louis isn’t sure means he doesn’t know what to do with them or that Louis isn’t doing a very good job at hiding his mood, makes him smile tightly. “What’s up?” Louis has a moment of panic and Niall smiles, hesitantly, “You can’t be _that_ worried about me handling the vegetables,” picks up a green pepper and waves it around, “I know what I’m doing, don’t worry,” and he rubs his thumb along Louis’ arm at the elbow as he crosses to the sink, turns the faucet on, and it’s enough. “You grab the strainer and I’ll wash and you talk,” like it’s fine, everything is fine. He takes a breath. Harry is singing outside, loud enough to carry through the rain on the window, _your wick won’t burn away, your wick won’t burn away_ so Louis talks. 

“Just realized this morning I’ve been home for six months.”  
He doesn’t know if Niall knows he’s talked to S since August, if that birthday phone call was obvious or not, or how much Niall even really knows about S in the first place. He’d kind of left it as something between him and Zayn, or him and Harry and the script, him and London, really, hasn’t _actually_ talked to anyone, but Niall glances over in a way that means he knows what’s underneath that statement, something bigger than this. Niall takes all the vegetables out of the strainer and sets them in the sink, “Hold that over that side, so we don’t drip,” and Louis is hardly listening he’s waiting so hard, just holds his hands where he told him to, the strainer cold against his skin. Leans so his forearms are holding his weight mostly, kind of closes his eyes just to listen to the water if not for Niall to say something. It’s been too long for it not to be whatever he decides is worth replying, so that when he finally speaks Louis inhales too much air, “Well it’s not forever, is it?” And something about his tone just hints toward him knowing something Louis hasn’t told anyone, that he knows Louis wants to leave and is going to. Just a matter of time. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Has to. Niall shrugs, doesn’t take his eyes off the tomato in his hands, “You’re not going to stay, that’s all. Six months isn’t so long.” It takes everything in him to not force this into a fight, all defense, can feel the words already coming out of his mouth but he holds back, just looks at Niall and thinks _I thought you knew_ and that’s enough. Their mornings on the water, his feet in his lap on the couch. “Charleston is home, though. I’ll always come back.” Niall smiles as he puts the last pepper in the bowl of the strainer, grabs a dish towel from the handle of the fridge and then Harry’s walking in needing a plate and he’s thinking _coming back isn’t an argument for not staying_. Niall doesn’t reply, just asks if he wants to set the table. It’s fine.

 

~~~~~~~

 

Louis is still sprawled on Niall’s bed, has been for the past ten minutes when Niall walks in, asks him his usual, “What’s up, Lou,” as he sets his backpack down. Louis takes just long enough for him to do a double-take, “Y’alright?” and Louis has to laugh once, still can’t fully believe it, closes his eyes with a smile still on his face. “I just found out Zayn took our rough cut back to New York with him and long story short we’re premiering the final at Tribeca.” When he turns his head Niall’s beaming, eyes tracing all over his face, “Oh my _god_ , Lou. Holy shit!” He’s still so in shock all he can do is lie there, shake his head again. Starts laughing when Niall flops down next to him then turns and straddles his waist, right over top him, “We have to go celebrate. All night. Call Harry, does he know? Where’s Liam. He deserves a drink after all he’s done for you. A whole bottle. Let’s go.” and Louis wants to kiss him so he does, thinks _fuck it, you’re the best_ reaches up and pulls him down to him, Niall laughs into his mouth, hands at his jaw, one finger resting behind his ear and Louis turns into it, couldn’t stop if he tried. 

 

They go to A.C.’s since it’s close to the house and no one wants to worry about getting back later; it’s a Friday and it’s busy but they manage one of the pool tables near the back and Niall buys first round because he’s Niall, Harry can’t stop saying some variation of _amazing_ and clapping him on the back, Liam smiling all crinkly-eyed across from him. "So I'm a movie star, now, right?" It's a good night, misses Zayn the whole time, then walking home again, earlier than he would have a few months ago but with Niall still all sorts of affectionate, arm across his shoulders humming Drake and just past buzzed. It's one of his favorite versions of him, not so different from sleepy or fresh off the water, happy in a way that's just a touch at his wrist and a laugh always waiting inside his mouth, so that when Louis presses against him a couple blocks to home he goes easily, kisses back with a smile. Can't seem to help himself getting touchy, the thought of leaving just starting to form in the back of his head, _remember this and this and this_ , Niall mumbling into his mouth a breathless, "Oh, like that, Lou? That how you want to celebrate," and can't seem to help himself laughing, "Unless you want to switch positions here," Niall shaking his head _nah that's okay_ into him, the taste of the skin at his neck, hip bone shifting into his hand, bricks catching his knuckles cradling his head. When he slips his fingers beneath the elastic at his waist Niall pulls his face back up to his by the jaw, breathes hot into his mouth, and Louis has to remind himself they’re in public, he can’t just _do_ this here but he wants to, “Wanna suck you off,” and Niall is smiling when he replies, “Then do it,” and it’s more than enough reason to but he pulls away, tugs him by the shirt after him. They walk the last two blocks home and his hands are shaking, can hardly unlock the door. 

 

~~~~~~~

 

He’s facetiming Zayn when Niall walks in mid-sentence, “Danny’s got us a meeting with a few, we should book our flights from the city to LA-” and it’s not that he _doesn’t_ know but the surprise still registers a moment on his face, Louis watches it happen like slow motion. Zayn stops at the look on Louis’ face, asks what’s up and it feels like everything they haven’t said is raining down around him, tells Zayn he’ll call him later _should I buy the tickets yeah sure fine_. He sits there a moment, Niall out of sight in his room by now, vaguely aware of his phone going dim in his hands, doesn’t know what this is now, what they’ve become.

 

When Niall comes out again a few minutes later he’s carrying a duffel bag, his tennis racket. “Gonna go play for a bit,” and Louis nods, bites his tongue. He has to go with him, knows he does, knows he needs to get up and follow him out the door and into the front seat, put the radio on. So he moves, grabs his sweatshirt off the back of the couch as he crosses the room. Niall turns toward him as he reaches for the door and Louis pushes his hands into his hips, presses him against it. He waits a moment to kiss him just to look into his eyes, because god knows he still won’t say any of it, neither of them will, and then he does, and it’s the first time Niall kisses back in a way that Louis feels his bitterness. When they pull apart Niall just says, “I know, I know.” Breathes it into his neck. It’s not quite forgiveness.

 

~~~~~~~

 

April comes with a rush of nerves, waiting to leave completely restless. Harry corners him after dinner with a week to go, hesitant in the way Louis knows to expect something like an accusation. “But have you talked to him? Have you guys, I dunno, like, settled on anything?” Louis shrugs, sets his fork down. “I mean, we never really settled on anything from the beginning, so-” “Mmm.” His tone is wary, and Louis pauses, lets him explain. “Well you did that with us, sort of,” and Louis meets his eyes instantly, _wait what_ on the tip of his tongue but Harry is turning away, soft in a strange way like he’s saying _I told you so_ but Louis doesn’t know what he told him, what he’s getting at. Maybe can’t let himself. Maybe can’t admit it, or is scared to, hasn’t considered. One of his strongest traits is this tendency to take things and run with them, look back only when he’s already gone. Maybe that’s a flaw. Or a mistake, sometimes. Knows it is, must be. “When you left for school and, we never,” he makes a gesture with his hand, like _fill in the blanks_. _You know._ They’ve not talked about this, not because of any specific intent on his part, just that it fell to the side being gone and starting school, meeting new people and reinventing everything he was. It’d been a back of his head sort of thought, eventually mostly just left as a part of their past, something about growing up and learning from each other but being more afraid of changing things than… whatever it was. Could have been. He picks at the label of the bottle in front of him, empty now, thinks about Harry the senior in high school, the kid (though really, who was he to claim older wiser) he left behind, the best friend he’d kissed that summer, the ways they’d started to learn each other. Harry rinses their plates and puts them in the dishwasher, five years have gone by, gets this glimpse of some kind of What Could Have Been but that’s not what he does, he can’t live with that, what he would know, could know by now, winter breaks coming home to that instead of this, the two of them in Harry’s old room in Port Royal that August. But now this. Harry leaving and Louis leaving and what history becomes when it’s not what you thought it was, when you don’t share it after all. Niall and Charleston and what stays. It’s hard to bring the words to his mouth. “Was there… _should_ we have?” Harry’s leaning against the counter now, finishes the last of his beer, “You think we should have talked about it?” and he watches him across the kitchen and can’t read him, has to wait for his answer. “No, I don’t think it matters, now. Not for us.” The unspoken _but for Niall…_ clear between them. He’s not going to ask about what else is there, unspoken, not going to, “Has he said something to you about it?” and Harry shakes his head, walks back over and takes Louis’ bottle from in front of him, rinses them both, “Not really. Haven’t seen him much, and you know Niall… Doesn’t talk about things unless he needs to.” Sets them next to the sink for the recycle, and that's the end of the conversation but it's not,  

 

He’s lying on their couch later, Harry gone to bed and Niall who knows where, their conversation still on repeat in his head just staring at the ceiling. Lets himself think past what Harry hadn’t said, _isn’t this what S did to you, isn’t that exactly how it had happened. Niall coming to LA and you’re saying_ I thought you knew _to him, is that what you want_ and it hurts a bit, not like it was with S, has already convinced himself nothing will be like that again if he can help it (the _yeah, you but you can’t_ shoved to the back of his head), just, it hurts. It’s hard knowing he has to leave and Niall has to stay, that it’s not about anything more than that, what’s best for either of them. He’s been a solid part of his life for almost a year now, doesn’t know how to leave him. Had forgotten how good it felt to get to know someone. And they're so good together, easy in a way that he can feel is rare, if only because he's never had it with anyone else. He closes his eyes and puts it off one more day, still plenty of time to figure it out. There is. Totally is. 

 

The next thing he knows is the sound of a key in the back door and its soft open and shut, Niall catching it from slamming and then putting it into the frame, setting his keys on the counter. Thinks about faking it, he’s being quiet enough he could reasonably be sleeping through it, closes his eyes again. Can feel Niall walking toward the living room and then he’s leaning over the back of the couch and Louis can’t help but smile, opens his eyes to a hand in his face and then ruffling his hair. “Why aren’t you in a bed, Tommo?” It’s all he can do to look up at him, crinkle his nose and shrug, wasn’t waiting for him but he was, now that he’s here, why not follow him to his room. Share the four blankets he's still got on his bed and fall asleep to the breeze through the open window, his body warm with his next to him. Why not, why not everything, here and now, this.

 

In the morning he lies still for a long time, Niall next to him on his stomach, head resting mostly on his chest so he can feel his exhales against his skin. Keeps his breathing matched to his so it doesn’t disturb him and thinks about packing, dragging all the shit he’s left here over the past year back home and into his room or the four boxes he's allotted himself to ship to LA for their arrival next month. Thinks about Zayn, wonders when it became the two of them that’s permanent, somehow. Has already caught himself cataloging Charleston, the motions of routine he's settled into. It was never going to feel like enough time, really, or too much either; Charleston has been doing this to him since the first time he left, hard to leave it again, especially to go back to New York in comparison, but going somewhere new is _new_ , feels like the kind of uncertainty that’s good for him, could turn out to be. First kiss kind of uncertain, and then Niall is shifting over just a bit and he feels the air hit a spot of drool beneath his mouth and it’s too good to resist, “Gross, seriously?” “Shut up, I know. Sorry,” all slurred and the way he talks in the morning always sounds like he’s as southern as he actually is, grabs his pillow and rubs it as his chest. “God, thank you, yeah, that’s great.” Niall laughing and leaning over to him, pausing. Louis gets a moment of his eyes right in front of him, “I’m gonna miss you so much, you jerk,” his grin just a flash of white at the bottom of his periphery, then his lips pressed against his, and he feels it in the shape of his mouth, that for all the lightness in his tone, he’s admitting he’s not getting through this unscathed either. Something between _it’s fine_ and _don't leave._ Knows he won’t ask, and that hurts too.

 

~~

 

More than anything what he’ll remember are these moments in between, the curtains next to Niall's bed still the same, too soon in the season really to have the windows open but him so insistent on a breeze; the flex of muscles in his arm pushing the pillow beneath his head lower, Louis’ chest taking off. They’re quiet about it but keep laughing, Louis breathing in grinning, breathing out, Niall’s hands all over him. Glad to be just tipsy, glad he’s not too drunk, half of it still celebratory giddiness bright in him and the other half the relief of just getting what he wants. That they can have this be good for them, get carried away despite both of them knowing what’s going to happen too soon. The cool of sweat behind his knees, Niall perfect, imprecise but so _good_ god it’s so good, feels speechless with it, completely here. He knows by now what Niall responds to (his name in his ear, the skin where his arm and shoulder meet at his chest just sensitive enough to not tickle if he bites, a quick _fucking fuck_ said into nothing) and he uses every trick, wants to memorize them as they happen not as a list, wants to remember. Niall is always so intent on Louis coming first that he gets completely desperate by the time he does, loses his rhythm and usually only lasts another minute, but Louis wants to be last, this time, wants to feel him lose it before he does. He pushes his hands at Niall’s shoulders so he lifts up to look at him and Louis shudders as his hand slips from his dick, “Wanna ride you,” another weakness, watches Niall’s throat as he swallows and nods. “Yeah, okay, yeah,” and they turn, Louis slides down slow and then moves, unforgiving, more like an apology he can’t get forgiveness from and Niall says his name like a warning. “Want you to come first,” doesn’t care how breathless he sounds and Niall’s closing his eyes and his hand at his wrist, fingers at the knot he has inked there, thumb on the side where it’s open. He presses tight as he comes, breathes out long and low and Louis doesn’t want to leave. Niall’s at him instantly, won’t let him finish his train of thought, has no idea.

 

~

 

This is the one,  
_we laugh just like yesterday and I kiss you like the day before_

 

~

 

He has this moment looking at him where he thinks _I knew you before your dad died_ and it’s a string of them, then, _I knew you before any of this, I knew you before the rest of them, I was the one that knew you._ And finally, separate, _I knew you before you wanted me._  

 _After._  

 

Niall is singing along to the Eagles downstairs, can hear him filling the dishwasher and as Harry sits down on his bed next to his suitcase Louis can’t move for a moment, just leans against the dresser by the door and tries to breathe. Watches Harry stand up and open his closet doors, _even children get older_ , comes out holding a stack of t-shirts they’ve passed back and forth since high school and when he sets them in the suitcase Louis thinks _this wasn’t supposed to be so damn sad_ but here he is about to cry. Something about it feels final in a way that’s different from anything they’ve done before and he fights that feeling, knows he’ll be making his way back to Charleston forever, knows that this kind of an ending isn’t be-all, that Harry and Niall and even Liam have all got parts of him he can let drift out but will always remain in his orbit, will keep growing out of and back into. Thinks hell, maybe that's what home is, more than any one place or one person or one history. One feeling for all of it, of changing into the same person you always were going to be. San Clemente or whatever. He smiles as Harry shrugs at him and Louis knows what he's thinking because he's already there, pulls him into him. 

 

~~

 

Louis’ flight is at eight the next morning, it feels not real at all, or completely past real. The months of waiting to get better, waiting to do something, and then waiting to leave all a blur now of learning to want. He says goodbye to the girls at family dinner, kisses his mom goodnight, and then it’s the two of them, driving too fast to Folly to catch the sunset, practically running down the boardwalk. Louis isn’t superstitious but he likes the idea of encouraging luck for whatever it could be worth, Niall always swearing the only real way to see the sunset is over the open sea, or as close to it as you can get. They stand next to each other at the very end, arms resting over the wood of the railing facing the water, Niall keeps leaning over and Louis knows he’s not about to fall but the way he knows is different from the way his hands still want to reach out against it. The sky is lit with the brightest color Louis knows, has ever known, past golden hour into actual sunset. Doesn’t know how to leave.

 

The pier closes an hour after sunset and they don’t talk about it but Niall keeps driving along the water, the lights of the beach houses on Arctic remind him of an airport, the runway for takeoff, and he’s tired in a way that’s closer to missing someone than wanting to go to sleep. Turn onto Ashley and then the only place to end when the road stops, a sign for the lighthouse and the inlet. Niall parks and they sit there, the sounds of the engine clicking all there is. In the light of the lone street lamp at the start of the path Niall looks beautiful, and it’s not the first time Louis has thought of him as something bigger than that word but it’s the first time it’s settled like that might be okay. The walk is maybe ten minutes, quiet but for the bugs and wind in their ears, Niall humming under his breath some song Louis doesn’t know. The path is paved over, used to be an actual road with houses along it but years ago they closed it off for the park and all that’s left are a few streetlights and foundations, spraypainted with names and lyrics, anarchy symbols. When it turns to sand it’s twenty feet of it then water, the tide in and loud, waves almost too much to talk over but he can can kind of hear Niall when he asks if he wants to keep going. Nods, wants to get even with the lighthouse; it’s his last night here and this is the only tradition he has for himself, to watch the light blink over the water, toward the harbor and the jetties out before it. The lights in the distance the only sign of shore, all these islands that fit inside of each other, something about the water that gets between them being what gives them shape, what makes them anything at all.

 

The sand is cold at his feet, so that when they sit down out past the last old house he shivers, pulls Niall close to him. They sit for ages, watch a boat go by, the lighthouse blinking in time every few seconds, _we had a good run, though, didn’t we_ and it’s the closest either of them will ever come to naming it but there it is, Louis’ voice shakes when he whispers _yeah, we did._ They could kiss forever or lie here forever, watch the moon set as well the stars shift over and then out of sight, the sun rise forever the sand on their skin forever the waves coming in forever. It feels possible, is the thing, and that’s why Louis lets Niall pull him up after too long and follows him back to the car, why they end up at Waffle House for one last biscuit sandwich at midnight, why he gets on his flight with three hours of sleep and mouth-shaped bruises on his chest, his neck, his thigh. It was always going to be like this. It was always going to be like this. It always will.

 

~~~~~~~

 

New York is a blur, Tribeca a dream he'd never let himself get around to. He stays at Zayn's place like they'd done as juniors, helps him pack boxes of pots and pans he's put off til the last minute, stays up late smoking and watching the directors cut of Alien and then the Two Towers, falls asleep and wakes up to Isengard drowning. The premiere itself is a night of flashing lights and a red carpet, him and Zayn introducing the film and then anxiously sitting through it, missing Niall and Harry and Liam and his mom, Charleston. They sit on a panel for young filmmakers where someone asks the whole group _Could you have made this work without the city?_ When it's their turn Zayn looks at him to answer and he thinks a moment, about Harry eight months ago asking why he doesn't just stay in New York, why he's coming back to Charleston. "I mean, we kind of _did_ make the film without New York. I'm _from_ Charleston, and almost all of this was filmed either on location there or in a studio there... but as much as it _is_ about that place it's also about this place that exists completely apart from it. I would even say that it's a fundamental part of _Rapture_ that it's not set here in New York, that besides referencing another person it references other places as well. We made it completely collaboratively between Charleston and New York, but we got input from Paris and from Los Angeles and Chicago, too... I'm not sure we could separate it from any of those, but especially New York. We learned everything we needed to know to make it here, even if we didn't produce it here." _So if the film is about New York without it being_ about _New York... was that a personal choice for you? Or is everything about it, in a way?_ Louis smiles and thinks _somewhere better than this place_ and _nowhere better than this place_ and Zayn is as well when he speaks up, "I think part of the reason cities are so rich in culture and the arts and for film especially is that you have access to a lot of people with a lot of potential stories and interpretations to bring to your work. We’re still very young but we try to carry that potential that a city offers outside of it, you know? Like we could set our next project in a desert and because of the process and collaboration we work with it could still operate with a reference to New York or to Charleston or to wherever, something bigger... at least ideally." Louis loves him too much to say anything besides a quick "Speak for yourself on that desert idea." The audience laughs a moment and they move on, bumps his leg against Zayn's under the table and he smiles over at him, rolls his eyes. Louis hasn't doubted them once but in the moment he can't help but think this is right, that this is going to be alright. They go to an after party the festival is hosting and then to one Zayn's put together at a bar with their friends, some people they've known since freshman year, some newer, some Louis hasn't met before but knows because of the spreadsheet they keep updated of their network, web site links and email lists, business shit that Louis originally thought would absolutely never matter but Zayn had been right, of course. Too smart for him. He falls asleep later in Zayn's bed with him curled up next to him, his phone in his hand open to a text from Niall just simple, _So proud of you, deserve every award they've got_ from earlier and a reply he falls asleep typing that'll be waiting for him in the morning to send. 

_Couldn't have done it without you._

 

The next morning is a rush of last minute packing and goodbyes, Zayn signing off on his movers and storage space and a quick coffee with Perrie while Louis sends thank you emails and tries not to call anyone back home. Harry probably sleeping in, Niall in class, his mom not what he needs right now. He walks the few block radius he knows like the back of his hand around the apartment for what feels like probably the last time, just has a feeling he won't be back on this street ever again, takes a photo of the door they've crashed through way too many times over the years, drunk or just too loud, who could say, alive with the city and the future they felt building in front of them and then heads inside. Zayn's waiting with his duffel to leave, asks him if he's ready. It's rhetorical but he is, he thinks, tells himself there's nowhere else to go now. 

 

They get on the plane and Louis lets himself hear it in Niall’s voice as if he’s only leaving Charleston, not New York, not everything he’s ever known. _Be back before you know it._

 

And in six months when he’s up in the middle of the night, ready to pull his hair out trying to edit the feature now known as _Fucking Bullshit_ he finds some footage in a folder labeled only _10-26-14_ that starts with cloudy skies out a car window, a radio announcer in the background saying something about the worst of it hitting land in a few hours and has to think _you had no idea what you were doing at all._ And then it’s them on the front of the boat. _Look at him next to you. Get closer, let your arms do more than brush skin against skin. Let them rest against his. Remember the touch because the feeling is all you're going to have after._ Hours of footage that won't make it into any cut of anything and so much of it saying their names he won't be able to look at it again without the nostalgia as strong as the storm from the marina, watching the rain start to fall before they had to drive home. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> completely and wholeheartedly dedicated to amy,  
> with additional thanks to catie & katrina & sika for encouragement and help
> 
> also there are obviously a lot of references to poems, songs, other art, etc, so please feel free to ask if you want sources. i didn't want to interrupt myself with footnotes and things.
> 
> andddd i have a blog for this story at scprogress.tumblr.com if you want to chat or just bask in charleston.
> 
> thank you for reading :)


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